Such is the Sport of Soccer
by Dailenna
Summary: [Royai, one sided GreedxRiza][AU] It isn't easy being the wife of Roy Mustang, worldrenowned soccer player and captain of the Amestris soccer team.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA.

**Notes:** Well, here it is. This is the piece of work that I've been spending all of my spare time on in the past few weeks. And rightly so. Over nine months of writing, and half of that was done in the last two months alone (approximately, of course – I wasn't counting word for word).

So I've been slogging away and not telling anyone for as long as I could, until I finally broke and needed some help, and so the very first person I'd like to thank is **Bizzy** for giving me a few gentle ideas here and there (and for telling me that I'm wonderful – that's always appreciated :P). I'd also like to thank **Legendary Chimera** for the PMs I've sent her scooting around actually telling her what it all was (half of the time doing that actually gave me ideas, so you're very helpful :3) and **causmicfire**, because I was in the middle of writing a huge plea of help for her (because Bizzy was asleep at the time XD) when I got one of my big breakthroughs. So thank you to all three wonderful women who have played a part in the shaping of this story, whether you know it or not.

I've started with acknowledgements because you guys are amazing and deserve to go at the very start of my story, since you were a part of my process.

And now that I'm trembling with excitement, I'll move on to giving you the story itself. Starting – of course – from the beginning (a very good place to start . . .)

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"**Such is the Sport of Soccer**" by **Dailenna**

**Prologue**

His hand rose high into the air, acknowledging the people who had come to see him, and the crowd roared along with their hero. He had been in numerous matches, all of which only resulted in making them love him more. They had not come to adore him until he had begun to win, and hence they had not seen the side of him that early competitors had. They had not seen his foul streak when he began. Now, he was by no means a dirty player, but several previously faced foes still regarded him with malice for actions he had taken.

Such was the sport of soccer.

His hand lowered and the grin faded into determination. He jogged into his position by the ref for the toss up, across from the other team's captain. The man looked at him warily, but he was too involved in the game to notice.

* * *

She had looked up briefly with fleeting interest to see who would win the toss, and once the opposing team took the ball to start off, she looked back down to her book, skimming the pages.

"You're not even going to watch?" the woman beside her asked incredulously. Her husband was the Left-Winger. He was pacing up and down the field, his eyes magnetically attached to the ball and his feet following after it in their own style, hoping to get to touch the ball and make a break for it.

She looked up to the field for a moment, eyes glancing towards the field where he juggled the ball quickly around the other team's Centre Forward. "I don't need to watch to be sure that he'll do well. He understands that."

The other woman looked at her disapprovingly. "You could show some support, though."

"I'm here, aren't I?"

There was a silence, and when enough time had passed to make the gap awkward, she returned to her book. It wasn't all that interesting a story – it just involved her more than the soccer game did, and so was the better option for her attention. In fact, it passed by a whole lot quicker than the game, because more was being achieved than some ball being kicked from person to person.

Only a few pages passed before the other woman nudged her uncomfortably in the ribs. "Look! They've almost scored a goal!"

She looked up in exasperation, hearing the crowd's cheers of anticipation, and saw one of the Amestrian Forwards almost reach the goal circle only to have the ball deftly stolen from him by an opposing Back. The crowd let out an "aww" of disappointment, and she looked back down at the page. Quickly a silence fell before a roar erupted once again, and soon after, the buzzer went to signal the goal.

"Did you see it!? Roy took it back like it was nothing and just booted it right past the Keeper!"

Good – he had his goal. Provided that they won, he would come out of the game happy. Now there were still forty minutes of this half to go through, let alone the next. She crossed one leg over the other and huddled closer to read again – why did they always have to play on such cold, breezy days?


	2. In Which Everything Is Not Always 'Okay'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy

**Notes:** I think I must have written this part of the story about halfway through last year. It seems like ages ago now, but it still goes the way I want it to, so that's okay.

Here we get to see what the relationship between them is really like. We've had a glimpse at basic ideas – we know that he's very involved in soccer, while she really doesn't find it interesting – and now we get to see the original attitudes that have shaped those views. Enjoy!

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Chapter One: In Which Everything Is Not Always 'Okay' **

Roy Mustang was a soccer player. His job, heart and life revolved around being able to kick that ball and get it inside the goalposts. For years now he had been the pride and joy of the Amestrian soccer team, as their highest rating goal-kicker and all-round best player. Fans all around the place barracked for his team, whether they were from Amestris or not. They just knew that with Roy Mustang still in place, there was no chance of their team losing.

Stepping out of the change-rooms after a game was always an ego-boost, especially with another win under his belt. A cheer went up and if it wasn't for the guards holding the crowd back, he would have been mobbed. To satisfy the people, he stepped forwards and shook a few hands, autographed some shirts, and ruffled children's hair before he walked through the path cleared for him – and the other players – by the guards.

At the edge of the car park, he could see her standing with her arms crossed beneath her breasts, a book hanging from one hand. He sighed and strode over to her, putting an arm around her and kissing her on the top of the head as a greeting.

"You ready to go?" she asked.

He caught a glimpse of a fan coming towards him excitedly, child in tow. "In a second."

"Mr. Mustang! It's such a pleasure to meet you! Is it– do you have a minute?" The man peered at him eagerly, clutching his son's hand. The boy was nibbling on a hat nervously.

Roy flashed a smile, extending a hand. "Of course, Mr.-?"

The man gasped happily and shook Roy's hand. "Kirk Goring, Mr. Mustang. I was just wondering if I could get a photo of you and Tyson together. He's been a big fan of yours since before he learnt how to walk!"

Putting on his child-charming grin, Roy looked down at the boy. "Is that true? Well, I suppose I'll have to let you take a photo of us, then." He crouched down next to the boy, who looked shocked to be so much as within a step of his hero. They grinned at the camera and a flash went off after a slight pause.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Mustang!" Kirk beamed as he took his son's hand and they walked off a little reluctantly, looking back every now and then at the soccer player.

"No problem."

He turned back to her. Her arms were still folded, and the uninterested look was still firmly on her face. He pulled one hand free of the deadlock she had them crossed in, and entwined their fingers on the walk to the car.

The silence of the drive home was excruciating, and both could feel the tension bristling in the air. Finally, he had to say something. "If you don't want to come, you don't have to," he snapped.

There was a pause as she turned around and regarded him. "And how do you think that would look? You're the one who's so desperate to preserve his image."

"It's better that you aren't there than that you're sitting and sulking the whole time. Don't you think someone from the media will realise that you're only going for the sake of keeping up appearances?" Coming up to a light, he changed down gears too early, crunching the gearbox. She snorted.

"What, do you want me to stand on the side in Amestrian colours, cheering every time you touch the ball? As if you don't have it for half of every game anyway?"

A frown spread over his face and his fingers clenched the steering wheel tightly. "It would be nice if you do something other than just sit there and read for the whole game."

"The whole game? That would be nice, but how do you think I can manage that when I have to sit with the other soccer-wives and Gracia is always spouting on about how perfect Maes is, all the while looking at me as though I'm unnatural for not thinking you're the same?"

"At least Gracia supports her husband."

"Hmm, maybe it's because her husband isn't a self-inflated idiot like mine."

A deep growl bubbled out of his throat and he accelerated away as soon as the light before him turned green. His knuckles had turned white from the pressure. The occupants of the car resumed their silence, each fuming at the other.

When the car pulled into the driveway of their home – more of a mansion, really – he stayed in the driver's seat. "I'm going to get Addy," he said abruptly. She gave no sign of listening to him, but slammed the car door behind her and stormed up the front steps.

With another growl, he threw the car into reverse and backed out of the driveway.

* * *

Support indeed – she was doing him a favour by being there. There was no reason why she should have to be as excited by the game as Gracia. It was pointless. The game itself accomplished nothing, other than keeping the players fit. She could admit that his body had been perfected by the sport, but a fat lot of good that had done _her_.

She needed to vent somehow – she didn't want to still be like this when he brought Addy back. If it wasn't so breezy still, she would have gone for a swim in their pool. Maybe she could call the woman from next door over for a game of tennis . . . No, not when she was still feeling this way. It looked like today was a day for the treadmill.

With the number of kilometres she had run toting up in front of her, she puffed along, red in the face. The anger that had filled her mind had dissipated and now her head was a blank nothing, focussing only on keeping her legs pumping. The heart-rate monitor told her that she was up to '**83 bpm**'. It was recommended for a proper workout that she reached one hundred and twenty beats per minute, but in the past few weeks, the highest she had been able to stretch herself to was ninety-one, even when sprinting for as long as her legs would allow. Beyond ninety-one was impossible – her heart had grown tougher and fitter than ever.

When the counter reached '**85 bpm**', she slowed to a walk and after a minute or so, jumped off the machine. She walked over to the window, panting slightly. Her legs felt slightly floppy as they got used to the more solid floor. He wasn't home yet. Wait; was that his car coming around the corner of the street? Maybe she would go for that swim after all.

* * *

How could he still be angry? Or 'grumpy', as Addy had so nicely put it when she stepped into the car. It wasn't Riza's fault that their marriage was on rocky grounds, and he shouldn't blame her for being so emotional. He knew she was like that when he married her, after all, so he should have expected it. If she didn't want to come to the games, then maybe they could figure out something. Only coming to one every now and then. There had to be some solution.

He could feel Addy watching him as he pulled into the driveway again, and looked over to her as he shut the car down. He glanced at her uncertain eyes, before he announced "We're here," and got out of the car. She climbed out of the other side, and the two doors shut softly.

He walked around and took her hand, pressing the button to lock the car. "If she's still angry, just go into the living room, alright?" Addy nodded and when the front door opened, peered around the doorframe. It took a moment before he realised he was doing the same, with equal tentativeness.

Stepping inside, he realised that there wasn't a sound in the house. Addy gestured to upstairs, but he shook his head. "I don't think so. I can't hear any music or machines running. I'll check out the back. Could you see if her car's still in the garage? Thanks, sweetie," he called as Addy wandered off.

He strode through a few rooms to the sliding door at the back, and opened it warily, stepping out onto the porch. He couldn't see anyone over at the tennis courts, but wandered down to the pool area – it wasn't as though she'd be on the swing; she hadn't been that carefree for some time. Opening the pool gate, he could hear that she wasn't swimming, but he looked around and saw her sunbaking by the side of the pool. Her hair was dripping, so she had just come out, but her eyes were closed. At least she seemed relaxed.

"I don't suppose you could put some lotion on my back, could you? It's nice and warm now that the wind's died down."

He smiled. At least she had gotten rid of her funk for now. He grabbed the bottle of suntan lotion from the table, and sat down on the tiles beside her. "I was thinking," he started, squirting the lotion out and begin to massaging it in, in between her shoulder blades.

"Mmm?"

"Maybe we could come to an agreement. You don't need to be at every game, just one every now and then, and at the Finals, I suppose. I don't see why you couldn't stay at home for a game here and there."

"Mmm, that would be nice."

"I know I've been an idiot . . ." He stopped. He didn't know how to proceed from here. What was he supposed to say?

She opened an eye and looked at his frown. When he didn't go on, she sighed and turned her head onto the other side. The click of the gate a moment later made her look up again. "Hey, Addy." She propped herself up on her elbows and beckoned the girl over. "How was grandma and grandpa's?"

He leant back as Addy sat down by her and smiled. There was almost nothing between the two to show that they were mother and daughter – Addy had inherited his darker hair and eyes – except for their smile. They both had stunningly perfect teeth, and even with one front tooth missing, Addy managed to have a princess-like grin.

Feeling like an old man, he announced that he would have a nap before dinnertime, and left the two girls together to talk. As he flopped down onto the bed, he couldn't help but think what lifesavers children were – any awkward moment could be dispelled by their presence.

_

* * *

Adelaide (Addy): female; of German origin; meaning "Of A Noble Kin"_


	3. In Which We Observe A Normal Night

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy

**Notes:** This chapter is sort of smaller. In fact, I do believe that four or five chapters are about this length, but they're only in the story every now and then. Most chapters should have another 300 or so words, and every now and then I splash out because I have to include something or other. If you haven't noticed by now (I don't expect you to haev noticed by now - it's only the second chapter, after all), it's only ever from Roy and Riza's perspective. The next chapter will always begin with the person who _didn't_ end the chapter before, because when I was writing it I hadn't separated it into chapters yet, and I've chosen that to pass time I'll just have a phrase here or there, or skip to the other person. Hmmm . . . Well, I hope that you enjoy, and here's the next chapter.

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Chapter Two: In Which We Observe A Normal Night**

For her daughter's sake, she had put on a better mood. It was bad enough arguing with each other, but Addy had her own problems already without having to sit though their bickering. Being the child of a world-renowned soccer player had its drawbacks.

Riza snorted. The daughter of a world renowned soccer player and . . . what? A University graduate? She herself had nothing to her name. Yes, her own family were of the elite, but she hadn't been able to become anything herself before Roy came into her life. Maybe that was the problem; they were married too young. Maybe that's why there were so many issues yet to sort out in the partnership.

They had met in University, where the team he was playing for at the time was sponsoring his education. He had been finishing up some Health and Nutrition courses, and she had just started Engineering – she had a scholarship, although she didn't need it. They had ended up going out for one and a half years, and just before she finished her second year, they were married. Now she was twenty-six with a six year old child, having struggled through passing the course she _had_ been excelling at, because she was trying to raise a daughter at the same time.

They had managed to get through that trying time – they still loved each other then. Now, she didn't know. She could put up with him for Addy's sake, but she didn't know whether she would still be here if it wasn't for her daughter. There was nothing here for her anymore.

Dinner was quiet. Everything was quiet these days. The only sound was the chinking of the knives and forks on the plates, until he put his down on either side of his plate and asked for her to pass the salt.

She looked up in confusion. "Salt? When have you ever had salt with your food?"

His brow furrowed. "Does it matter? Can't I have salt if I want it?"

Leaning forwards slightly, she eyed him quizzically. "What happened to your idea of not consuming additives? What would you put it on, anyway? The lettuce?" A raised eyebrow marked her mockery of his vegetarian diet.

"It's my food, and I can have what I want on it," he growled. "Since when do you care what food I eat? I haven't _said _that you have to eat the same – it's your own choice."

She snorted and raised her head to give yet another imperious reply when she saw Addy with her head ducked, watching them out of the corners of her eyes. Realising what they'd been doing, she passed the salt quickly and returned to her own dinner. The grunt of satisfaction he gave made her want to say something again, but she kept her mind on Addy and stayed silent.

After they had finished their dinner and the help had taken their plates away, she offered to help Addy with her homework, and after convincing her daughter that she wouldn't want to do it the next day – she never did – they made their way off to the girl's bedroom and worked on the sheet together. By the time that they reached the subtraction, Addy had taken to staring off into the distance and wasn't contributing, so Riza put the work away and told her daughter to go get her reading book.

Snuggled up together on Addy's bed, she helped Addy read her way through the Golden Book that her class had been given for this week. As soon as they had finished the last page, Addy jumped off the bed and grabbed her chart so that Riza could write the name of book into the appropriate line.

When she finished penning in the details, she looked up to see Addy holding another book eagerly – one of the few written by A. A. Milne.

"Alright, but just for a few minutes. It's your bedtime soon," she told her, taking the book and shuffling over so that Addy could jump up onto the bed again. "Find the poem you want, and if you can make it through the first stanza yourself, I'll read it fully for you."

Addy needed a few prompts, but Riza ended up reading it to her anyway. At the end, the girl was begging for another one, but the book was faithfully put back in its place on the shelf. She helped Addy into her nightie and kissed her goodnight.

"Sweet dreams, darling," she said, turning off the light. She pulled the door behind her so that it was almost shut, but a sliver of light still made its way into the room, and went off to find her husband. She found him in the study, on a phone call with one of his friends.

"Yeah, three times this game. Didn't you notice? I swear that– . . . Yes! I could have hit him after the second time!"

"Roy?"

"I suppose I'll have to talk to him about it at training next week. If I don't, remind me, okay?"

"Roy?"

"Hold on a second, Riza wants me– Ha! Yeah, I reckon so.

"Come on, Roy."

"Alright, alright. Hold on just for a second, Maes." He lowered the phone to his shoulder and looked up at her impatiently, his former mirth having disappeared. "What is it?"

"I just put Addy to bed. If you want to say goodnight, you should go soon, before she falls asleep."

"Yeah, thanks," he nodded, and raised the phone to his ear again. "Maes, I just have to go say goodnight to Addy. I'll call you back in a few minutes . . . Of course she is, she's four years older than Elycia."

Sighing, she turned and left. If Maes was talking about his daughter, it would take another five minutes for Roy to get down to Addy. If they didn't go off on a different topic and forget about their daughters, that was. With a start, she shook that idea out of her head. Roy did just fine as a father – it was at being a husband that he needed work. Desperate work, that was.

Sadly, she changed into her pyjamas and grabbed the book she had been making her way through for the past day. Before crawling into bed, she straightened out the mess that he had left it in after his afternoon nap.

Without noticing the time go by, she read chapter after chapter. There were only thirty-odd pages left when he came in to get ready for bed. She gave him a glance before finishing the one she was on, and putting in her bookmark. The book found its place on the bedside table, and she switched off her lamp before turning around onto her side. Her eyes unable to decide whether they wanted to be open or closed, she saw the lights alter as he turned on his lamp and turned the ceiling light off.

The bed creaked as he climbed into bed, and the lamp went off. There was a pause before he shifted over and put his arm over her. She could feel his head inching over onto her pillow and shrugged as obviously as she could. There was another moment of hesitation before he sighed huffily and went back to his own side of the bed.

She didn't know why she bothered still sleeping in the same bed. There was no point to it, really. It only served to add another layer of discomfort to their relationship. Maybe she should sleep downstairs tomorrow night. Or get him to.


	4. In Which A Soccer Career Begins To Decli

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy

**Notes:** Yeah, so I sort of forgot to post this yesterday. My apologies to my lovely reviews, and readers too. This one's slightly longer, and we finally get to see some sort of plot forming. Not completely, but just the hints of a plot XD. I hope you enjoy :)

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Chapter Three: In Which A Soccer Career Begins To Decline**

On the Wednesday, when he was getting ready to go off to his next game, he asked her offhandedly if she was going to come with him today.

"No," she told him, a little absently. "I've called your parents, and I'm going to pick Addy up from school this afternoon." After watching him pick up his boots and kit bag to leave, she wished him a good game.

He meandered out of the house and down to his car. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad. The media wouldn't pick up on one absence. No reason to. His reputation couldn't be meddled with just because she missed a game here and there. Right?

When he had dumped his gear in the back of the car, he twisted the keys in the ignition. There was no problem with just a few games. No reason to fuss. He twisted the keys again. Nothing to make a deal about. And again.

"_Riza!_"

When he burst back in by the front door she looked out of the living room doorway, frowning. "Is something wrong?"

"Car won't start," he grumbled. "Can you drop me at the game?"

She waved the idea off. "It's ok - borrow my car. I'll call someone to come around and fix yours. If they can't make it before I have to get Addy I can ride a bike. Your parents always walk to get her anyway."

If he wasn't wearing his soccer shorts, he would have stuffed his hands into his pockets. These pants didn't have any pockets for him, so he just stood with his arms hanging limply by his sides while she went to fetch the keys for him. A whistle sounded a moment later, and he looked up to see a bunch of keys flying at his face. He barely got his hand up to catch them in time.

She looked slightly abashed. "I thought you were already looking."

Muttering, he left again, swapping his kit into her car – which started up smoothly – and backing out of the driveway. After exiting their street, he flicked the radio on. The first song that was playing was some happy-go-lucky pop song. This, he was just not in the mood for. He played around with the stations, even going so far as to see if Classic FM had anything sulk-worthy playing, but it seemed that this was their Jazz Hour, and the music was a lot more romantically-toned than he could bear to listen to. The radio went off with a disdainful flick of his thumb.

By the time he pulled into the stadium parking lot and parked in the reserved section, he had had ample time to delve further into his mood. Picking his bag up out of the back of the car had become more of a snatch, and the finger he poked the automatic-locking button with had a distinct stab to it. There was no way that his walk to the change rooms could be seen as anything other than stroppy.

Setting his kit to one side of the changing rooms – and ignoring the team-mates laughing around the rest of the room – he sat on a bench and pulled his socks and shoes off to replace them with his shin-pads, soccer socks and boots.

"Oi, Mustang. You coming?" The rest of the team had slowly filed out of the room onto the pitch to warm up, and only he and Hughes were left behind.

"Yeah, give me a second to find my shirt," he muttered, fishing around his kit-bag.

There was a pause from the other man as he stood back and watched Roy's frustration grow. "Something wrong?"

Hughes was easy to talk to – hey, Roy spoke to him most days, even when they didn't have training or a game – and he considered telling the other man about the current issues he and 'the missus' were going through. "Nah, it's fine." With a growl of aggravation, he gave his bag an annoyed shove, as though to punish the thing for not yielding to his anger. "I can't find my shirt."

Hughes stepped forwards and calmly began searching through the pockets. "You didn't leave it at home to be washed?"

"No."

"Left it in the car by accident?"

"No."

"Gave it to some fan because they were so excited to meet you?"

"Don't be stupid," he snarled.

"So there's no chance that you're actually wearing it?" Hughes stopped rummaging through his bag, and looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

Oh. Yes, that blue thing he was wearing wasn't just some home shirt, but his soccer one. He must have put it on while he was thinking. With a discontented frown, he turned to stalk out of the change-rooms. He could hear Hughes' voice following behind him.

"And you say that nothing's wrong. Captain of the team or not, I think I'm going to have to have a talk with you after the game."

Hah – the game! Warming up alone was a travesty! As much as he kept his eyes on the ball, he found himself fumbling and almost couldn't be bothered going after the ball to keep it in play. He always roused himself to go and jog after it, but the usual enthusiasm wasn't there. After the third time it got past him, the coach gave a stare in his direction, almost as though he was looking for a visible reason why Roy's game was declining. Finally: "Mustang! Go for a run around the field until your feet realise what they're doing!"

Angry at himself, Roy circled the field, feet pounding out a regular pattern. What was going wrong? He was paying attention to the ball. He was watching the feet of the other players and noticing their feints and dodges, yet he still didn't seem to register when he needed to act. The fact that he was failing in his previous area of expertise was only disrupting him further, and at one step he stumbled, catching himself just before he fell. With a shake of the head, he continued on, more determined than before. Even if he didn't feel responsive to the game, he would force himself to be. He had to.

He returned to the team, this time watching even more carefully than usual. He was ready. He could do this – he had done it many a time before. And he didn't fumble. Didn't let himself stop to think "I wish someone else would get that ball", but just did it himself. Maybe not enthusiastically, but he did it all the same.

And so the game started. Pass, jog, receive the ball, dribble, pass, run – no wait, run back: the other team stole it. Tackle, dribble, pass, jog, receive, pass, jog . . . jog . . . run . . . receive, shoot . . . and . . ! Miss. Keep trying. Follow the other team, run forwards – Denny stole it from them – receive, pass, jog, receive, dribble, pass, receive, pass, jog, receive, shoot . . . another miss. And it started again.

All that he allowed his mind to be on was the game, the motions of the ball and of the players with it. The problem was that soon enough a few of his passes were substituted for 'kick it in the direction of a team member and growl in agony as it passes by metres from them'. And then a little later, a few of his attempts to receive the ball were replaced with the utter shock of having the other team swing by and just take it off him with no preamble. After a few fumbles, he was called off by the coach and another man took his place.

"_What_ is going on?"

He shifted on his feet uneasily. "I don't know. I'm focussing completely on the game, but the ball keeps getting by me."

That time he did receive something without a single mishandling: a stony glare from an unimpressed coach. "Obviously you _aren't_ focussing completely on the game. You're a good player, and you know that, Mustang. If you were focussing properly, we'd have two goals by now and the crowd would be singing our praises. As it stands, the crowd is restless, and we've got nothing. Luckily, because we have such a good defence, the other team haven't scored anything yet either, but if you don't pick up your game, it's only a matter of time. Is that clear?"

"Yes, coach," he mumbled.

"Good. Now sit down for five minutes, and after that I'll put you back on when there's a lull for Havoc."

What was wrong!? Why wasn't he able to do this properly?

He gritted his teeth. It must have just been residual tension from the week. Nothing was distracting him now, but that tension was still built up and it was still affecting him. He resolved quickly to go and make sure that there was no animosity between Riza and himself when he got home. If he managed to calm all problems then – and keep them calm during the week – then he might not be so distracted in the next game. Oh, how he hoped not.

Time passed, Havoc's lull came, and Roy found himself back on the field. Time passed, balls were lost, and Roy found himself back _off_ the field.

"_Get your act together_."

This had to be the worst day of his soccer career.

* * *

This had to be the best day she had had in years. A whole afternoon of sitting about, reading her way through her book without interruption, and not having to worry about the screaming crowds, or the blowing breeze, or the chilly air – or the inattentive husband. Why couldn't more days be just like this?

She stretched out on the lounge and gave a passing look at the clock before returning to her book. In ten minutes, she'd have to get ready to go and pick up Addy. The car-repairman had finished working on Roy's car earlier – it was just a flat battery – but she felt like riding the bike anyway. She didn't remember the last time that she had ridden with Addy doubling up on the back, but the girl used to like it when they went for rides together. If she didn't like it anymore, they could always figure out something else.

When she turned up outside the school, Addy was waiting by the fence, one of a handful of kids who didn't catch the busses from the other side of the school. The girl gave her a curious look, but smiled and hopped up onto the peg of the back wheel, gripping the shoulders in front of her.

It was a peaceful ride. The road was filled with cars of parents and grandparents collecting children from various schools, and the traffic lights were jam-packed with impatient cars, but aside from one near miss by an irresponsible driver – who was put on the receiving end of one of the dirtiest glares Riza could muster – it was rather calm. She even stopped at a park for a while, where she pushed Addy on the swings for ten minutes.

Riding back up the driveway of their home seemed almost a disappointment. She hadn't ridden properly for so long. There was the exercise bike in the house, but that was never the same – there was no variance in slope, scenery or company. Just the same boring cream walls.

As she put the bike away in the garage Addy waited by her side, and they went into the house together for a few nice, quiet hours until _he_ would get home.

When the thought struck her, she tried to push it from her mind – he wasn't so bad all the time, after all, he had consented to let her stay at home rather than come to his games – but as soon as she started trying to think well of him, it was as though something just kept pushing back. Consented? Almost as though she needed his permission to do anything. She resolved not to think of him at all, and to enjoy the rest of the day, whether he was at home or not.

Still, it wasn't entirely her imagination when a rain cloud settled over their house just before he trudged in through the door, eyes narrowed, mouth set as though he had just been forced to eat meat, appearing slightly rain-splattered and with a look on his face as though he was just about to hit something. She didn't know what would be worse – asking him how the game went and being yelled at, or leaving him for a while and enduring his reaction later when he decided that she was ignoring him. Either way, it looked as though the next few days were going to be nothing to boast about. She decided to stay quiet.

Dinner was, again, an awkward affair, and she didn't dare speak with the way that he was spearing his tomatoes. While she and Addy ate quietly, he seemed mainly to be torturing his food, and the few pieces that made it to his mouth were mangled before they so much as reached it. He had barely eaten four mouthfuls by the time that he threw his fork down onto his plate and got up from the table, leaving Riza and Addy to finish up with the residue of his mood hanging over them.

When she tucked Addy into bed that night Riza didn't bother going to get Roy so he could say goodnight – she didn't want him around her daughter if he was still acting the same way that he was at dinner. Instead, she grabbed her pillow and a few blankets, and made up a quick bed for herself on the lounge. She wasn't going to put up with sleeping next to that.


	5. In Which Heated Words Are Said

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy

**Notes: **No time to write long notes in this, so just what's on the top of my head. Some people have been asking when Greed is coming along, and he's in the next chapter, so not quite now, but he's almost here. This is only a really short chapter, but the next one is longish (as far as I can remember) to make up for it. Erm . . . that's all I can think of, and I have to go now, so I'll fill you in on whatever else I need to later. Thanks heaps readers and reviewers!

**

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Chapter Four: In Which Heated Words Are Said **

"You can't expect me to believe that after a game that bad, there's nothing happening in your life," Maes insisted. He paused a moment before adding "Unless you're just getting old and aren't as athletically 'perfect' as you were before."

His eyes narrowing, Roy tried not to snap his reply at the other man. "I'm younger than you are, so don't bother with the 'getting old' excuse unless you want to accuse yourself too."

"Then you admit that something's wrong?"

Something was wrong? Of course something was wrong. He didn't understand what exactly that was, since the real decline had only come about in the last few months, but there was definitely a root cause. "I don't know."

"…"

"Look," he tried to explain. "Maybe Riza and I are having problems. Maybe I didn't get enough sleep last night. Maybe I was subconsciously tired of doing well all the time and wanted to see what it would be like to lose. It could be that today was just a bad day. Who knows?"

"What sort of problems are you and Riza having?" Of course Maes had to pick up on that.

"I didn't say that we _were_ having problems, just that maybe we were."

There was only the slightest of pauses before an aggravated sigh, and the other man repeated himself with a little more emphasis. "Right, so what problems, then?"

"Do you know how annoying you are, Maes?"

"If this is affecting you, it's affecting the team. What. Problems."

He paused. Maes' voice was becoming sharper than usual. Just because he had an ideal marriage with Gracia didn't mean that he'd know how to help with Riza, though. Roy didn't think that Maes had ever had problems with Gracia, despite the sheer impossibility of that. How was the other man supposed to help if he hadn't had the chance to sort anything out in the first place?

"Fine, don't answer if you don't want to, then," Maes said, sounding fed up. "You guys should go to a marriage counsellor or something. You used to be all fine and dandy together, but now all I hear is '_we're not doing so well right now_' as though at any time in the past two years you have been–"

The past two years. Roy grunted in response as Maes kept on talking. Two whole years of getting the cold shoulder and frosty glares. Two years of treadmills, swimming pools and exercise bikes. Two years of "Where have you been?" and "Not tonight, Roy". Two years of trying to hide the fact that their marriage was sticking together by the skin of their teeth. Two years of arguing in front of Addy, and trying to convince her that Mummy and Daddy still loved each other. Trying to convince himself of it.

"–I just don't understand how a couple who were as perfect for each other as you two can let this happen. Did Riza do something? Did _you_ do something? Why doesn't it work anymore–?"

"Maes, nothing happened," he interrupted forcefully. "I'm tired now, and I have to go to bed or run the risk of waking Riza and suffering her wrath."

He waited only a short moment for Maes' begrudging farewell and vow to get to the bottom of this later before hanging up the phone. And what reward did he get for his assiduous attempts to get to bed before he had the chance to wake his wife up? An empty bed, that's what. He stared at her empty half with a frown, and went off to find where she'd gone to.

When he found her, she was just snuggling down in a pile of blankets on one of their more comfortable lounges. Her eyes latched onto him warily as he approached, and she slowly tucked her loose hair behind one ear.

"You don't want to come to my games anymore, you've spent the whole evening ignoring me and avoiding me, and now you're not even going to sleep in the same bed as me. Do I smell bad? Do I have a disease? Is there something hideously wrong with me?"

The only thing his outburst seemed to accomplish in her was the changing of her expression from wary to determined. She pursed her lips and waited for him to finish.

"We don't even act like a married couple anymore," he went on. "Just two people forced to spend too much time together. What happened to us?"

As his last sentence faded, she sat up in her makeshift bed and looked him stonily in the eye. "There isn't any 'us' anymore. There's 'you and me', but no 'us'. There wouldn't even be so much as a 'you and me' if it wasn't for Addy's sake."

Yes, they had discussed that option a while ago. For just long enough to decide that it wasn't an option after all. The media always managed to have a field day with divorces – they'd use the opportunity to dig up every little piece of dirt about him that they could find. Either that, or they'd make Riza look like the bitchy ex-wife trying to stop him from seeing his daughter. And so it had been ruled out. Unless things got horribly worse. But was this qualified as horribly worse?

"Maybe we need to rethink that, then," he growled, glaring at her. Did he actually mean that, or was he just threatening? As though she'd suddenly throw herself at his feet and beg for forgiveness at the idea of divorce. Obviously he had forgotten who this woman was.

She raised her eyebrows and fixed a stare on him so strongly that it gave her the presence of royalty. So as to maintain his dignity, he gave her one last glare before turning on his heel and walking out of the room.

"By the way," she called after him as he left. "It was you who came in this afternoon, looking ready to snap off the head of whoever tried to talk to you. Do you blame me for trying to keep myself intact?"

Angry? Why would he be angry? He'd only had his car break down, played the worst game of his career, and been told to fix up his play or sit out for the rest of the season. Now why would he be angry? Not to mention that she hadn't so much as cared to ask how his day was, or if he played well.


	6. In Which We Meet A Spectator

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy

**Notes:** Well this is it, the chapter in which we meet Greed. I'll admit that you don't see him for quite a while after this, but at least we've seen him, right? And when he comes back he won't be as ready to just disappear again, so you can sort of consider this as a preview to what his character will be like later in this. I've also given him a first name, purely for the sake of the fic, because it wouldn't be normal to have people called 'Greed' and 'Lust' walking around in the modern day. To be fair, I've kept Greed as his last name, and I thought long and hard about his first name before choosing the one that I did (and I've a Word document filled with potential names and their meanings and origins to prove it – I'll be happy to show you some of the other options if you want to know).

**

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Chapter Five: In Which We Meet A Spectator**

They had agreed that it would be better for her to still turn up to a few games a season, and to the Finals – whether his team got into the Finals or not was out of the question – and so here she was again, sitting and waiting for the ordeal to be over. One point she had won on, however, was that Addy came too. Addy liked to see her father play every now and then, and some friendly company was always welcome.

Some time into the second half, Addy crawled onto her lap and marvelled at how often Daddy had the ball. Riza squeezed her arms around the girl and agreed that he had the ball a lot. She hadn't thought it was wondrous, but rather had been curious as to how he hadn't scored a goal yet with so much possession. So far, this didn't promise to be a good afternoon. At least he couldn't try to blame her for it this time. Oh, and his divorce threat? She hadn't so much as payed an instant's attention to that – the only people it affected negatively were himself and Addy, and so why would he bother?

The game finished with Addy telling her how she wished Daddy had gotten a goal and Riza couldn't help but agree. Another afternoon of the sulks – whoopee! They made their way out of the seats and headed over to wait for him just outside the soccer-players' car park.

Outside was the usual crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the players off the field. This was how it was after most games, but if the players took long enough, the majority of the crowd would be gone by the time they got there. If there were way too many fans loitering there, a few people from security would come along to usher them away so that they didn't mob the players.

She waited in the usual spot hand-in-hand with Addy, trying to avoid too much visual contact with the crowd. The family of the great soccer-player Roy Mustang had not escaped fame completely and there had been enough photos of the three of them that every now and then someone recognised her and tried to start up a conversation as an excuse to hang around and meet Roy, or even use her as their own claim to fame: "I didn't get to talk to Roy Mustang, but I spoke with his wife for a whole five minutes!"

It hadn't happened for a while – she and Roy were seen together less and less by the media, despite trying to appear on good terms when they were together, and so there were consequentially less photos and a more comfortable obscurity – but every now and then there was someone.

Then there were the guys who didn't know – or didn't appear to know – that she was married, and started trying to chat her up. Or a few overconfident men who noticed she was married and tried anyway. Those got put in their place fairly quickly. It was nice to know that _someone_ noticed her, but she didn't have time for these try-hards. Occasionally it was lamentable, when they seemed able to carry a decent conversation, but ultimately she preferred a little more anonymity and it had to be done. Having Addy with her this time was good for scaring away the few who didn't realise she was married, and those who didn't like children.

But that still left over a few others.

"Hello."

She turned about irritably to come face to face with a man intent on invading her personal space. If he was more than a foot away from her, she'd be incredibly surprised. "Excuse me," she snapped.

He raised a cool eyebrow and took a step back, raising his hands as though to show he had no ill intent. Enough of a silence passed that she had had the time to run a frosty – and practiced – pair of eyes over him before sniffing and turning away again.

"Are you a soccer fan, or are you just waiting around to see the hot, sweaty men coming out of the change rooms?" When she looked back at him, there was a grin on his face. "I'm sorry," he conceded. "You're obviously waiting for someone."

"Yes. My husband," she said quickly, hoisting Addy up onto her hip to stop the girl tugging at her sleeve and to point out her presence to the fellow. Hopefully then he'd get the idea and clear off.

The man nodded sagely but didn't move away. "Ah, so he's left you here and gone up to the front of that crowd to be the first to get his hero's autograph." When she didn't say anything, he ploughed right on heedlessly. "There's no chance that he's short, squat, and losing his hair?"

She almost laughed. If that was true, it could have been the solution to all of their problems. It'd remove a lot of the basis for his egocentricity, in any case. "Unfortunately not."

He grinned, and shifted on his feet – not exactly a step forwards, but just leaning his weight a little closer again. "So, ah . . . does he bring you here often?"

"Look, I'm not interested–"

"Alright, alright," he took another step back, raising his hands again, but didn't move any further. This one was persistent. At least he wasn't watching her anymore. His eyes were lazily travelling over the crowd. Soon enough, he looked back. "So, is this your daughter?"

Her jaw clenched. "Yes."

"What's your name?" The lilt that had come into his voice told her that by now he was talking to Addy.

This time she did laugh, albeit grimly, and fixed him with an imperial glare as Addy pulled her arms tighter around her mother's shoulders, burrowing her head into Riza's neck while keeping her eyes on the stranger. "You could say that my daughter doesn't talk much," she told him, pulling Addy up to stop her from slipping.

"Just like you," he muttered loudly enough that it was obvious he meant for her to hear him.

She kept her eyes on the exit of the change rooms and waited. From the bustle the few left in the small crowd were making – those who hadn't been pulled away by their spouses or friends – it seemed that some of the players might have made their entrance by now.

Yes, when she looked over to the side of the door she could see the top of the head of the newest player's brother. The player himself was hidden by the crowd gathering around him for his autograph. She could even see a blonde head bobbing through the crowd to get to him, leaving some odd stares behind her as she moved – the child prodigy's girlfriend.

The new player had been the talk of the state for the past few months. He was barely eighteen years old when the team had snatched him up, and any time the boy was mentioned in the house – usually via a newspaper article – Roy would make some passing remark about how he found the boy, forgetting that Riza and Addy had been present when he happened to pass through the park, and it had been Riza who pointed out the boy and his brother playing a quick match together. They were both talented, but only the elder brother had wanted to bother trying out – not to mention that Alphonse had only just turned seventeen at the time.

"Well, the players are starting to come out. Should I hide before your husband comes back and sees me?"

She snorted. "Oh, he'll be another half hour yet." There were still enough fans to waylay him for a whole hour if he really wanted to stretch it. Wait, why did she tell this guy that he'd take that long? Ugh – she could already feel the smug attitude radiating off him.

"Maybe I'll wait around a little longer, then."

As nice as it could be to get some attention, this was just too much. She took a few steps away, then let Addy down off her hip and grabbed her hand before walking purposefully over to the Elrics, who had just escaped the crowd of fans.

"Hello Mrs. Mustang, Addy," Alphonse said cheerfully as she approached.

"Hi Miss. Hey Addy," the elder brother said when he saw them. "How's it going?"

His girlfriend crouched down on one knee and started conversing with Addy, her hands gesturing a little too wildly to make a whole deal of sense. Nonetheless, the seven-year old watched and listened patiently.

"Edward, Alphonse. We're fine thank you," she said in a quick greeting, smiling briefly. "I'm sorry to bother you, Edward, but would you be able to do me a favour?"

He put his head on one side, adopting a serious expression. "What is it?"

"Would you be able to go and get Roy for me? I'd like to leave now, and knowing him, he'll take a while."

Edward looked at her questioningly, but agreed and made his way back through the crowd – apologising here and there that he couldn't stop and sign anything else this time – and into the change rooms again.

She was left there, stewing with Alphonse. Winry had Addy distracted enough that she could let out a big sigh, without the hassle of worrying her daughter. With everything becoming so askew lately, something had to go right soon enough. Hopefully. Maybe then they'd come to a resolution. Bad things could only keep happening for so long, right?

It took her a moment to feel Alphonse's eyes on her, and when she realised, she looked back at him sadly.

"Is everything alright, Mrs. Mustang?"

His calm demeanour made it hard for her to lie to him. It wasn't as though she wanted to lie and say that everything was perfect, but the inviting tone in his voice just made it impossible for her to say the words. Instead, she looked away and said, "Everyone has their issues," hoping that he'd leave it at that. If there was anyone in the world who would make a good therapist, it would have been Alphonse. Something about him made her want to open up to him and spill the deepest darkest secrets from the very depths of her soul.

Oh no. Was he? He couldn't be. The man from before was approaching, his cool smile still in place. He whistled as he came close. "Wow, you're in with this bunch?" He switched his attention quickly to Alphonse. "Al Elric, right? My name's Emlyn Greed. Nice to meet you," he said, shaking Alphonse's hand.

Alphonse looked slightly confused, but smiled politely anyway. "Do you know this man?" he asked her.

"He's told you more than I know about him already," she informed him loftily, avoiding looking at Greed. It was an odd name. A mix of – Celtic? Gaelic? Welsh? Something of the sort – and just another word. She supposed that a lot of people did have plain words in their names – a mustang was a wild horse, after all – but she hadn't met anyone with a word in their name that was still in common use. She almost wondered whether it was an accurate portrayal of his personality.

He grinned. "The Ice-Queen and I have been talking for the past five minutes. I don't know what she has against me." The shake of his head was so sorrowful that the scornful look she gave him seemed misplaced. However, she did smile when the clearing of a throat behind him seemed to take him off guard.

A very imposing soccer player stood behind him, displeased glare on his face. Greed smiled delightedly. "Roy Mustang! What a pleasure to meet the star himself. A little off your game the last two times round, though." The hand he held out was duly noted by Roy's eyes, and discarded, to Riza's amusement.

Roy stepped forward to take Addy's hand with his right, so that the kit bag over his shoulder wouldn't be in the way. "Coming, Riza?" he asked, barely waiting for her to follow before heading for the car.

Nevertheless, she could hear another whistle as she strode away. "You _are_ in with the high lot, aren't you?" Oh yes. In the soccer world, this was about as high as they came.

_

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Emlyn: male or female; of Welsh origin; meaning "To Strive Or Excel" or "Rival"_


	7. In Which Clothes Shopping Is More Work T

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy

**Notes:** Sorry that this is late. I didn't have it on the computer I was using yesterday, and it just wasn't accessible. Thank you for your patience, and I also apologise for how short it is – it mainly just looks that way because the paragraphs are big. The next chapter will be longer, though.

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**Chapter Six: In Which Clothes Shopping Is More Work Than Originally Thought**

He didn't know who that man was, but he was having a bad enough day already, and that Greed man topped it off that little bit more. First there had been the half hour he spent that morning convincing Riza that she needed to make an appearance every now and then, and then there had been another dodgy practice before the game. During the game he hadn't fumbled – not more than twice, anyway – but neither had he managed to get a goal. Why was this happening?

There had been a good twenty minutes in the change room when Hughes tried to counsel him without actually know what the problem was – did Roy know what his problem was? That had amounted to nothing, and then Edward came back into the change room almost ten minutes after leaving, and told him that Riza wanted to go home. As though her interruption was going to get a good reaction now, of all times. Being the strong husband that he was – and being sick of Hughes' aimless counselling – he thought that he should go and tend to his wife's needs. Then maybe they'd be able to sort through this mess.

So when he arrived, what did he find but a man who seemed to be on familiar terms with his wife, calling her by her title and all – Ice Queen, hah! They must have been getting real friendly if he knew her that well. He smiled smugly at his own joke. She wasn't the sort to do that, and men just didn't seem to notice her, really. Not that she was unattractive, she was just too severe with other people. Or with him, anyway. When they were out together somewhere, he hadn't seen a single other man take so much as a second glance at her. Of course, a few did stare at him, the famous soccer player, but that was to be expected. There were the women too, although most of them stopped looking directly at him when they realised he was with his wife. When he wasn't with her . . . Well, that was another case completely.

So why was this guy any different? No, he wasn't any different. He was probably just talking with Alphonse. No problems there. Besides, his face was a little too long for Riza's taste – she preferred rounder faces.

The tapping of his fingers on the steering wheel earned a discontented glance from the passenger seat, where she sat, and he stopped tapping. He was just annoyed. Two games in a row, and he wasn't doing well enough. Of course, he was still good enough to be the best player on his team, but he'd have to keep his guard up or they might find someone to replace him with. The last thing he wanted now was some rival player coming and taking his spot.

Maybe he should do some drills when he got home. Extra training – as if five days a week _and_ before games wasn't enough – might just be enough to bring him back up to par. He still had Thursdays and Sundays off, and could do something with those. Starting small would be good, so that he didn't tire himself out. Maybe Addy would feel up to a walk. They could go to the park or something.

Ten minutes later – after arriving home, and announcing that he would be ready to walk with Addy to anywhere she wanted or needed to go – he stepped outside with a flea in his ear, on his way to the shops with his daughter. So it wasn't exactly the park. And it wasn't exactly going to be a lot of exercise – they weren't even going grocery shopping. He had to take her _clothes_ shopping. Addy seemed almost as bored at the idea as he did, but Riza had said that once she actually got to picking out outfits, the girl usually cheered up.

How was this going to be exercise? Shopping wasn't some long workout; it was just wandering around a store for half an hour to find a few pieces of clothing that didn't look as though he'd put too much thought into it.

Thinking back, he did remember one of the few times that Riza made him come shopping with her, when they were still a young couple. Somehow she managed to last three whole hours in the store, and that had been before they even sat down to have lunch. And when he complained about his sore feet, she looked at him in surprise and told him that most girls shopped that long for shoes alone, and that he should have known that from one of his previous girlfriends – at which point he had tactfully told her that he had never loved any other girl enough to come shopping with her, and she had given him a look, then laughed. So now that he thought about it, shopping might be a workout of sorts, if Addy was anything like her mother.

Unfortunately, as he found out four hours and two burning calves later, Addy was just like her mother when it came to shopping. The difference between them only added to his misfortune: while Riza had developed her stamina through experience and could often find what she wanted in a store within minutes (however, trying it on was a different deal), Addy was still young and had no idea of what to look for in clothes other than that she didn't like bulky shoes – and a fat load of help that had been, when that style seemed to have already gone out of fashion. Instead of the stamina of experience at long shopping trips, Addy had the stamina of a small child let loose in a candy store, without a limit on how much sugar she could cram into her mouth – that was to put it nicely.

Right now he was regretting that he bought her an ice cream beforehand. Sticky hands meant a trip to the bathroom, and by now she insisted that she had to go into the ladies' bathroom instead of just letting him shield her eyes when they walked past guys at the urinal, like they used to do. So that had been five minutes standing outside the ladies' toilets, waiting for her to come out and wondering why it took her five minutes to just wash her hands. All the while he had been getting odd looks from the people who walked past.

When the sugar finally wore off, he was stuck with two armfuls of packages, a tired child, and a long walk home. It had been fun on the way there, because Addy had been energetic, but this time was going to be a nightmare. Also, he had made the mistake of trying to get her energy up again by buying her a strawberry milkshake. It had woken her up, but it hadn't done anything for her sore legs. How could a child have lasted four hours, in the first place?

They had started out for home with her just telling him that her legs hurt, and he replied that they'd be home soon and it'd be ok, but before they were even a hundred metres past that, she started asking to be carried. It was impossible, of course, with all of the packages he was carrying, but it would stop her from feeling sore, and they'd be home sooner. He was almost tempted to try it, but didn't want to risk dropping her. Eventually, he offered her a piggyback and told her to hang on tight.

"If you start slipping or want to get down, then grip really hard, and I'll stop and we'll see where to go from there."

She nodded and clambered up when they got to a bench high enough that she could reach his back from it. From there they stumbled home, pausing every now and then to adjust her position and stop her from sliding down his back.


	8. In Which A Decision Is Made

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy

**Notes:** Here we are, back on schedule. This chapter's all Riza, and I think that this has to be the main one for pointing out similarities between these characters, and the actual FMA characters (mainly for the fire and paperwork connections pointed out here). Also, in this chapter something _finally_ happens that will have an effect on the story, rather than small things to give background ideas. Now I'm starving, so I can't think any more. Thank you reviewers for letting me know what you think!

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**Chapter Seven: In Which A Decision Is Made**

She had barely stopped herself from laughing when he tried to argue that shopping wasn't the sort of exercise he meant. Which was his way of saying that he thought shopping was less work than just walking around for what would have been a one hour jog, if that. He hadn't been shopping _for_ Addy in years, and the last time he had been shopping _with_ Addy, the girl had been in a stroller and didn't have much choice in where they went or what they bought. Instead of laughing at him, she raised an eyebrow and pushed him out of the door so that he could go and have his exercise.

Then she had sat down and looked at the room around her. It seemed so big, and empty. Not in the sense that no one was in there – she was in there – but because it seemed so lifeless. She hadn't noticed how dead the house was before, but now the stillness seemed so much more obvious.

It was impossible for her to stay here. Life had become such a point by point scenario, and she hadn't been able to fully immerse herself in any activity for a long time. Nine years ago, her life had been all planned out and just waiting to happen. She'd go through University, get her degree, get a job, maybe find a nice guy at that job, and get married and start a family.

That hadn't happened to her, though. Instead, she started University, met a guy, got married, had a kid, _then _finished University, and it seemed like she'd be stuck as the housewife forever. She didn't like the idea of getting a job when Addy had barely been two, especially with the complications at the time, and so it had been put off. Maybe she could think about it now, though. Addy was at school now, and Roy's parents could always take care of her for a few hours if she found a job that worked past three and his training was going late.

On the coffee table in front of her was the book she'd just finished reading the night before. Roy and Addy had only been gone for ten minutes; unless something went hideously wrong, she'd have time to take it and the other ones she'd borrowed back to the library, and pick up some more. It was too much effort to actually buy the books, unless she particularly liked them – with the amount of time she had on her hands, she'd go through too many too quickly, and it was a lot easier just to borrow them. That way if she didn't like them, she could just give them back instead of having to find a spot on another bookcase somewhere in the house to hide them away on.

Picking up the book, she went to find the others from the library, and grabbed her house key.

When she reached the library, it was quiet – as usual – and after putting her books into the return slot, she made her way through the bookshelves to find the biography section. Other than the occasional sporting books or exercise tapes, they were all she borrowed. Too many of the other housewives she was forced to associate with assumed she was always reading those romance novels from the _other_ side of the library. No, she wasn't quite that desperate. There was no point in reading about something so much that she came to long for what she didn't have.

She chose a few books, and went to have a flick through a magazine or two before putting it down and grabbing a CD instead.

When she arrived at home she still had time before the other two got back. What was she supposed to do now? It wasn't as though there was anything to clean, and even if there was, it wouldn't be her job to clean it up – they had people to do that for them, just not at times when the family was home, or awake.

She didn't want to start on her books yet, so she made her way up to the attic. Even if there wasn't anything interesting there, it would still be something to occupy herself with before Roy and Addy got back.

Climbing up into the attic, she looked around. Row after row of unopened boxes sat, waiting to be explored and sorted. Half of this junk was rubbish that she brought with her when she moved in, and had never taken out of the boxes because they didn't need it at that point. A whole lot more of these things were Addy's toys from when she had been a toddler, and her old crib, bassinet, and high-chair – pretty much all of the things that they'd decided to keep for the next baby. Ha! Like that was ever going to happen at this rate.

Opening one of the closer boxes and beginning to look through it, she wondered if there was a place somewhere in the house where she could start putting all of these things. That would give her something to do for the next two or three years until the supply of boxes ran out.

She sat down on the dusty floor, trying to put aside the thought that the dust would be clinging to the seat of her pants whenever she stood again, and opened up the box to her left. The bright colours inside almost made her wince – fireworks. Most of the canisters were fairly large, but there were a few smaller ones down the bottom. She'd never known much about them – they made pretty colours, and if she wanted some, she'd just ask someone else to get "The ones that make those blue flowers" or whatever it had been. These were Roy's. He'd put them away a while ago, and while Riza was uncertain as to whether or not they might work anymore, she wasn't going to take the chance by shaking up the box. She folded the lid back over, and focussed her attention on the box beside it.

This one opened up to show a bunch of paper documents. It was filled to the very top, and had she tried to lift it, it would have been too heavy for her. What a great place to put the box of fireworks next to – fuel. Although, if the fireworks somehow went off in the attic, the building itself might have made a longer-lasting fuel.

Flipping quickly through the documents to get an idea of just how important they were, her eyes popped open. Addy's Kindergarten and Grade One reports, school photos, Riza's University awards, Addy's birth certificate, Roy and Riza's Certificate of Marriage, Roy's University awards. Her teeth were slowly gritting together with more and more force. She stopped rifling through and gave herself a moment to calm down. These were important pieces of paper, and they'd just been shoved carelessly into the attic? Why weren't they in a filing cabinet of some sort?

Knowing she wouldn't be able to carry the whole box, Riza grabbed an armful of the documents and trotted out of the room, brushing off her pants as thoroughly as she could with one hand.

When she got to Roy's study, she paused, somewhat unimpressed by the distinct lack of a filing cabinet in the room. Unsure of what to do now, she began to wander back out. The sound of voices downstairs drifted into Riza's ears, and she made her way down, still clutching the papers. The sight that met her eyes was one that stopped her in her tracks, only halfway down the staircase.

Roy and Addy bustled in the door, though how they managed to do so, Riza had no idea. The packages in Roy's hands looked almost as though they were cutting off the circulation to his fingers, and from the reddening in his face, it looked like Addy was clinging to his neck a little too hard. Roy took one look at the surprised – although to him, it seemed more like disgruntled – look on Riza's face and set the shopping bags down as delicately as he could.

Putting the papers on a table, Riza sallied forth and rescued him from the choking their daughter was inflicting on him. Addy gave her mother a grin as she was lowered to the ground.

After clearing his throat, Roy hoarsely suggested that Addy took a few of her parcels upstairs and started putting the contents in her drawers, and the girl happily began to do so. When she was up the stairs and out of hearing range, he looked at Riza. "What?"

She raised an eyebrow, looking at the remainder of the bags on the floor. "Daddy doesn't know how to say 'No,' does he?" she asked sarcastically.

"Well, she wanted them," he answered with a shrug. "What would you do if she looked at you with those eyes and asked you to buy something for her?" He picked up a bag and peered inside. "I don't know much about kids, but from the looks of this stuff, she's got pretty good taste, too."

"I'd tell her that she didn't need it all and to stop putting on the act, Roy."

He looked up in shock, eyes wide. "She's a kid. Who's acting when they're that young?"

Once again trying not to laugh at him, Riza raised her hands in a gesture of peace – for now. "Alright. So you don't think that kids can be manipulative. She's a good daughter," she added, when Roy tried to argue that Addy wasn't manipulative, "but she's got you around her little finger already. Next time she needs to go shopping, I'll take her. No – I'll take you both, and then you can see how you're meant to deal with this."

Roy settled into a frown and crossed his arms over his chest. A moment later, when footsteps began coming back down the steps, he straightened himself out and smiled at Addy, who had come to collect some more bags.

Again waiting until Addy was back upstairs, Riza sighed. "But this isn't what I was going to talk to you about." She ignored Roy's groan and grabbed the papers she had put down earlier. "Why don't you have a filing cabinet?"

"What?"

She waved the papers in his face as her answer.

He groaned again. "Come on, we don't need a filing cabinet."

"Then why is there a whole box of important papers just sitting upstairs in the attic? We need most of those for future reference," she said. If Addy was ever going to go for a job, or her passport, driving licence, or marriage certificate – none of which looked too soon on the agenda, to Riza's relief – then she would need some of these papers just to apply. "I don't want them wasting away in the attic where bugs could eat at them, or we could lose them just when we need to use them."

Roy shuffled around, his hands sulkily in his pockets. "I don't like paperwork, so I figured that if I just put it all in the one place, that'd do. It's not like we need any of this now, anyway."

She looked at him levelly. Was that how he was going to see it? "Yeah? Well, that's not true." His puzzled look was intensely satisfying. "I'm going to need my University certificates – I'm getting a job."


	9. In Which Conclusions Come And Go

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy

**Notes:** Yet another chapter not on the right day. How about instead of saying I'll post with certain intervals, I'll just say 'every two _or three_ days'. It saves me from jumping up and down and banging my head in frustration. I haven't been busy on Sundays for ages, but yesterday I was hanging out with a friend, so I wasn't home to update then. Anyway, I like this chapter. It's not particularly happy, but now you can see that there's actually something wrong instead of them just being idiots. Now I'm going to stop typing before I spoil it all for you. Please review!

* * *

**Chapter Eight: In Which Conclusions Come And Go**

"Two to one, Roy," came Maes' flat voice along the telephone. He hadn't been impressed that afternoon, and neither did he sound it now. "Two . . . to one. After a loss like that, _now_ try to tell me that you don't have problems."

"Easy," Roy said, not bothering to keep the irritation out of his voice. "I don't have–"

"_Shut_ the _hell_ up."

It was the simplicity of the phrase that shocked Roy. Maes had taken care to watch exactly how he spoke since Elysia was born, and had been even more observant since she learnt how to understand words and ask what they meant. Roy didn't remember the last time Maes had said so much as a 'dang.'

Now that he had Roy's attention – half-hearted as it was – Maes continued on. "I know that you've been training every day of the week, and I know that you're still physically fit – you can kick a ball, after all. You're just _not concentrating_. Whatever the problem between you and Riza is, get it over with. Otherwise you'll be out of the team. I'm not trying to threaten you – I have no power to kick you out – I'm just telling you that if you don't fix something soon, Coach is going to be eyeing some new recruits."

"So I've been under some stress!" Roy finally burst out. "What am I supposed to do? Riza finally got a job last week, and now that's putting more pressure on me."

"Riza has a job? Why?" The change from the snapping tone to confusion was blatant in Maes' voice. At least he had slowed down now, and Roy could get a word in edgeways.

"I don't know _why_," he said. How was he supposed to know why she did anything? It wasn't like she talked to him about these decisions. "She just came out and said that she was going to get a job. No discussion or anything."

"Did you ever think to ask her?"

Ask her? He snorted. It was obvious that Maes hadn't been around Riza in some time – questioning any of her moves was liable to end up in an argument of some sort. "What's that going to get me? A slap on the face?"

"Well, it might let you know what your wife is thinking, for one," Maes said, a hint of sarcasm dripping into his voice. Mr. Perfect-Husband seemed to think that these sorts of things were obvious to everyone. "How is her having a job putting stress on you?"

"It's just something else that adds to what's pulling us apart," Roy mumbled. "She won't take any of my suggestions anymore – just goes and does whatever she wants. It's like her getting a job has been an end to whatever control I _did_ still have of her."

There was a quick intake of breath. "Woah, woah, _woah_! Did you really just say that?"

Roy blinked in surprise. "Say what?"

"You have no _control_ of her anymore?"

"Yeah, so?"

A pause and the sound of a sharp crack gave Roy enough time to stew over what was going to come. "Roy, if your idea of a marriage is about control, then I have no clue of how you and Riza even lasted this long."

There was some sort of commotion on the other end of the phone – Roy could hear Gracia's voice in the background – but he ploughed on, speaking as loudly as he could without his voice carrying through the closed door, corridor, another closed door, and into the bedroom where Riza would be reading before going to sleep.

"What's that supposed to mean? She used to like me telling her what to do, but now she's just . . ." he trailed off with an irritated sigh. Alright, so maybe he had been a little controlling. He had been the one to start her exercising every few days, but that was for health purposes. It was her own fault that she had taken that and started using it as a stress control device. And he had changed the entire family's diets to vegetarian. Well, changed hers – Addy wasn't born when Riza had still regularly eaten meat. Now, because of his aversion to it, Riza only had meat when he wasn't around. But that was for health purposes too, right?

Finally, after waiting through whatever was happening on the other side of the phone, a voice spoke.

"Roy, it's Gracia. I'm sorry for eavesdropping, but I heard Maes' last few comments and what you just said. I'm not trying to make out that this is all your fault – I don't know both sides of the story – but from what I've just heard, that has to be a great deal of the problem. You can _not_ try to control Riza. I may not know her really well, but this is the sort of thing that applies to any woman – she will not respond well if you try to control what she does."

Great, now Gracia was in on this, trying to give him marriage advice. That was really going to help – another Hughes.

"Gracia, it used to be all fine before. She didn't mind if I told her what to do. She'd just smile, consider it, and maybe tell me that she didn't want to, and that was fine. I can deal with her not wanting to– to– I don't know – have lunch with my parents or something," he said, grasping for any example. "Now, no matter what it is, the odds are twenty to one, in favour that she'll glare at me and storm off in a huff."

"Why?" came back the retort, firm and unyielding. Where Gracia got her resolve from, Roy didn't know, because that one word sounded stronger than anything Maes could have said to him. "What happened to make her so angry?"

Roy blinked at the phone, holding it away from his ear for a moment to look at it in wonderment. Tens – no, hundreds of conversations with Maes, and all he'd ever done was skim over the question, waiting for Roy to be ready to delve into the proper issues. Forty-five seconds on the phone with Gracia, and she'd cut right to the chase already. Wow, his hand was actually trembling.

"Roy?"

Roy pulled the phone back to his mouth. "I don't really want to talk about it," he said, and quickly hung up.

Well, what was he going to do now? He scrubbed his hands through his hair and groaned to himself, hoping that Gracia wouldn't take his hanging up on her personally. He didn't mean to offend her . . . just to end the conversation.

He jumped as the phone rang, and scowled. Moving to the wall, he pulled the plug out of the socket and smiled in grim contentedness when the sound stopped. This was only going to be a temporary fix until he saw Maes tomorrow and had to do something about it. Of course Gracia would have told him all about it. Unless she'd put the phone on speaker and let him hear for himself, which Roy didn't think was beyond her – or beyond Maes, for that matter.

* * *

She put the bookmark into the book she had been reading and crawled over to his side of the bed to pick the ringing phone up from his bedside table. Three rings and he hadn't picked up yet – he must have left his study.

"Hello?"

"Riza?" The voice sounded slightly shocked, as though the other person hadn't expected her to answer the phone.

"Yes, this is Riza," she said, trying to recall the voice on the other side. It was distorted enough that she couldn't tell if it was someone she knew. Well, obviously they knew her. "Who's calling?"

"Oh! It's Gracia. I just needed to talk to Roy – he sort of hung up on me."

A sheet of goose-bumps spread down Riza's back and she froze in position, still half sprawled across Roy's side of the bed. Her jaw clenched. Was it just her imagination, or could she feel her eye twitching?

"It's kind of important. Would I be able to talk with him?"

Licking her lips in an attempt to spread some form of moisture to her mouth, she answered in as calm a voice as she could manage. "I'm sorry, but Roy can't come to the phone right now. Would you like me to take a message?" How she kept the venom in her voice so minimal, she didn't know.

"Just put Roy on the damn phone!" came Maes' voice, sounding as though he was shouting across the room. His uncharacteristic impatience seemed not to have infected Gracia to the same extent, because a shushing sound was heard almost immediately.

Riza was taken aback. Just put Roy on the phone? "Excuse me?" she said, more than asked. "If he wants to talk to you, then he'll talk to you. I'll let him know you called, alright? Goodnight." She hung up angrily and tossed the phone back into its cradle.

When he came into the room only a few minutes later, she loftily let him know that Gracia called. The shocked expression on his face looked guilty, and his hands stopped where they had been unbuttoning his shirt, but she let it slide.

"I swear that there's nothing going on, she just–"

"That sort of became obvious with Maes shouting at me to give you the damn phone," she snapped. "I doubt he'd be endorsing his own wife's talking to you if you were having an affair with her." It had actually taken her a while longer to realise that, since she'd been angry at Maes' having yelled at her before anything else, but once the thought arrived, she had let out a great breath of relief.

Continuing a little more warily, Roy mumbled something about the two of them badgering him, and he crawled into bed, lying on his back to watch her. That was something that he hadn't done in a long time, she noted. It had become all communication where necessary, and avoiding each other the rest of the time. It was almost nice, the way that he looked at her as though he was worried, instead of grimacing and frowning all of the time.

She sighed, not feeling so angry anymore. If he wasn't going to make a big thing of it, then there was no reason that she should, either. It was just the initial shock, and Maes' demand that got to her. She had been happy – well, content – beforehand, and now that it was over, she shouldn't let it affect her any more.

The light went out with a click and she wriggled down amongst the sheets.

"Goodnight, Riza."

There was a awkward pause in which Riza bemusedly realised that it was the first night in a long time since they had so much as said goodnight to each other before going to sleep.

"'Night, Roy."


	10. In Which Civil Words Are Exchanged

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy

**Notes:** Look - I remembered to post this one! Ahh, I need to make my memory get better these days. So here's the next chapter, and I hope that you enjoy it. It's on a slightly less morose note than some of the others, so the people who have been telling me that this story is sad have something to look forward to in this chapter. I can't promise that everything will stay that way, but you've got it here, so there you go :)

* * *

**Chapter Nine: In Which Civil Words Are Exchanged**

He pulled a towel from the railing and wiped the sweat from his face with it. Today's training session had been better. Now when he tried to replicate his efforts in tomorrow's game it will have all come to nothing, he was sure of it. His concentration, was it? Well, he hadn't really been . . . No wait, he had been able to concentrate relatively well today. And not in the angry, enforced concentration that he usually had, but because his mind hadn't been on anything else. Other than trying to ignore the pointed looks that Maes gave him between kicks.

Speaking of the devil . . .

"You don't want to talk about it?"

"Nope," he said pointedly, throwing his gear back into his bag. "I don't want to talk about it. And look, it's working for me already." He gestured towards the field.

Maes snorted. "From what Gracia told me, the moment she asked you what was wrong, you said you didn't want to talk about it – which means that you acknowledge there _is_ something. With me you say 'Nothing's wrong, nothing's wrong.' You've finally admitted that something's happening, and now you're not going to face up to it."

Roy turned to him with a growl, and shoved his face forward so that it was only inches from Maes'. "I just don't want to talk about it."

After he had retracted and began packing up again, Maes shrugged. "Alright, so you don't want to say what it is. Maybe it's a private issue. You can ponder over it as much as you want – just remember that if you need to say anything I'm all ears, buddy." He waited for a response from Roy, but when he didn't get any Maes began to throw his own gear together. "Hey, you said Riza got a job, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"What's she doing?"

"Some engineering thing. Well, at least I assume so," Roy sniffed, frowning as he thought. "That's what she has her degree in, anyway."

Maes looked on in surprise. "Woah, engineering? That's so . . . Well, it's such a male-dominated industry. I would have thought she'd at least start small, with office work or something."

Yeah, he could really see that happening. The cute little secretary spending the day filing documents, and when she wasn't doing that, filing her nails down. That sounded a whole lot like her. No doubt she'd also start wearing miniskirts and pouting when she didn't get her way . . . He sighed - engineering fit her to a 't'.

"Actually, I think I remember her saying something about bridges when she came back from the job interview," he mused, trying to remember that conversation. It had been short, somewhat due to his one word responses, he supposed, but she had mentioned a few things about the company. "I guess they're starting her small. She hasn't done anything for four or five years, after all, and they don't want some bridge collapsing the moment a truck drives over it," he snorted.

All that Maes did was to give him a thoughtful look. "Maybe it's not such a bad thing," he ventured. "She's never been one to go to the country clubs, or have brunch with other women – or whatever they all do in their spare time – so maybe the reason why she was so touchy is because she didn't have much of a life outside of you and Addy. Now she's got her own project to work on she might be a bit happier to spend time at home when she has the chance."

Roy laughed and swung his bag onto his shoulder. Clapping Maes on the back, he wandered out of the change-rooms, calling back "For all of our sakes, I can only hope that you're right."

* * *

Finding a job had been a little harder than she had expected. Due to her determination, the image she had in her mind of going for a job interview was of her entering, putting her qualifications on the desk and the man behind the desk would flick through before saying "You're hired."

Instead, there had been three different interviews for three different jobs, the first of which had been very blunt and to the point, while the other two seemed a little more probing. The interviewer in the second meeting had blinked upon seeing the name on her qualifications, then looked at her intensely and asked if she really wanted to do this in a tone that told her he expected her to twirl her hair around a finger and say "Like, umm, I don't knooooow, it just sounded like it could be totally awesome." Following that, he had spoken to her as though she was a child, and seemed genuinely surprised when she replied as intelligently as the applicants in the last few interviews he had conducted. The first and last interviewers hadn't so much as batted an eyelid at her name, and she became even more grateful that not everyone watched the gossip-section of the news.

Moving into the office – more of a cubicle, really – that she was designated at Penn and Son had proved satisfying when either no-one recognised her, or else they chose not to make a scene of the 'married to a sporting legend' deal. It was an arrangement that she could get used to.

But now, only a month later, David Penn Junior was standing in the middle of the hallway announcing to the workers around him that he was very sorry that after the end of the week – and it was already Wednesday – he wouldn't see them in the workplace again. Another company had bought Penn and Son's bridge-building company, and David Penn Senior and Junior were going to be leaving at the end of the week – the new management would take over on the Monday.

In apology for the short notice, he had booked the function room at the Garden Royale for Saturday night, and all employees and spouses were welcome – no, _invited_ – to join David and his father in a final farewell dinner. Clothing was to be neat but casual, due to time constraints.

She may have only been working with the company for a month, but so far Riza had been entirely pleased with the work she had been given, and had produced. She was still in need of improvement, but her skills weren't as rusty as they had been at the beginning of her employment, and Sciezska no longer needed to make half as many corrections to Riza's equations and dimensions.

Being so happy with the company and her co-workers, she was sure that the farewell sounded like a perfectly fine idea. Inviting spouses, however, she was less sure about. No matter how many people didn't recognise her face or name, bringing Roy along would be just a bit of a give-away. She didn't think that he'd be comfortable with the idea, but maybe she'd ask him anyway.

* * *

Dinner that night was inexplicably awkward. There had been no major upheavals upon Riza's arriving home, nor was he upset about any of the day's activities, and Addy seemed perfectly content. Yet, there was no dinner conversation and something seemed to be hanging in the air.

Towards the end of the meal there was the distinct chink of metal on porcelain, and Roy looked up to see Riza watching him intently. It was only the mouthful of carrots he was chewing that stopped him from dully asking "What?"

"Roy," she ventured finally.

"Mmm?"

"There's an office get-together on Saturday," she said slowly, not seeming to notice the way that her hands were twisting her napkin tightly in her lap, "and spouses are also invited." She let the invitation hang.

He looked at her blankly. Why was she so nervous? Did she want him to go, or to stay at home? Could it be counted as a trick question if there was no question actually asked? He searched his mind for the right answer.

"Well, you know that I have a game in the morning on Saturday," he mumbled as nonchalantly as he could manage while trying to understand what message was being put across. "What time is the . . . 'get-together' on?"

"Seven-thirty. At the Garden Royale." If that napkin was alive, it would have been strangled quite thoroughly by this point.

Meeting her eyes, he still didn't know what answer he was supposed to give. Did it really matter in the end, or would this just be a temporary issue anyway? Weighing up the odds silently, he came to conclusion that if she wanted him to go and he didn't, she would sulk until the event and for days afterwards. If she didn't want him to go and he did, then she'd clench her jaw and bear with it as best as she could. Maybe a biting remark or two, but he was sure that that'd be about it. Yes, that was his best option.

"Yeah, that sounds alright. Are you coming to the game in the morning?"

* * *

Here she was again, book in hand, and attempting to ignore the noise of the spectators about her. What with not going and seeing every game anymore – a freedom she still enjoyed – she hadn't been here for a whole week and a half. Addy was sitting by her side, watching the field avidly as Riza skimmed over the pages of the novel in her lap. On her other side was Gracia, who only recently had stopped giving her strange looks. It should have been the other way around – the phone call had been a while ago now – but it had seemed for some time that instead of attempting to get her to pay attention to her husband's game, Gracia had merely been observing Riza. In between cheering on Maes, of course.

As the players trotted back onto the field after half-time, she lowered her book and noted the casual glance Roy threw into the crowd. By her side Addy was waving frantically, and a smile appeared for a moment on his face before he turned back to the game.

_Yes_, she admitted to herself, _despite all of his faults, Roy Mustang does know how to be a good father in the very least_.

That afternoon as she dressed for dinner, she found herself quite pleased with the last few days. It seemed that the less time they spent directly together, the easier it was to behave civilly when around each other. There had been a few small disagreements, but the atmosphere had lightened up a considerable amount since Riza had begun working, and even more just since Wednesday.

She had started to think that asking him to the dinner might just have been the right thing to do, but then she'd have to wait until the end of the evening to decide on that. They only had to drop Addy at his parents' house on the way, and then they'd be ready.


	11. In Which A ‘GetTogether’ Is Had

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy

**Notes: **The thing about writing is that usually you're more able to sympathise with the person whose view a story is written from. I like to write from both Roy and Riza's views in this so that you can see their reasoning for acting a certain way, and so that even when they act in a way that makes you think they're being a complete idiot, you can still see their thoughts and realise that they might not have understood what effect it had on the other. So if I wrote only from Riza's view, you'd see everything Roy was doing bad, and when Riza did something wrong you'd see that she didn't mean it as terribly as he seems to take it. If I wrote this only from Roy's view, you'd see everything Riza does wrong and whatever Roy did wrong wouldn't seem quite so bad because you know why he did it. _This_ chapter, however . . . It's entirely from Roy's view, but just from going over it to check for any problems beforehand, I can empathise more with Riza. I just want to whack him over the head and tell him to stop being an idiot. That's just my opinion, though, so read ahead and tell me what you think of it!

* * *

**Chapter Ten: In Which A 'Get-Together' Is Had**

When they got out of the car, Roy looked the building up and down. It wasn't the tallest or most sophisticated looking building on the block, but by the looks of it, it was a very good place to have been able to get into under such short notice. He straightened the blazer he was wearing and followed Riza to the front door.

Upon their entering the foyer, the man standing behind the front desk promptly dropped the phone he had been answering and rushed to pick it up and apologise to the person on the other line. His eyes barely drifted from Roy's face as the couple wandered past him and made their way towards the function room.

A sandwich board was set up outside the room, letting the passers-by know that the function room was reserved for the company of Penn and Son. Roy paused at the door to offer Riza his arm, which – surprisingly – she took, after momentarily assessing the situation.

The room itself wasn't set out in any particularly elaborate way. There were tables and chairs, and a buffet off to one side. Soft music played in the background, and towards the front of the room there was an area cleared, in which he could see a few people already dancing. Or moving in a way that they would probably refer to as dancing – it involved too many pointed fingers and kicking feet to look like anything remotely close to a person who knew how to dance.

He felt a tug on his arm, and Riza pulled him off to the right, heading towards a relatively empty table. As they approached, a bushy-haired brunette looked over and waved at Riza. So she must have been making new friends at this company. That was good, right? He sat down on her left, so that she could sit next to her friend, and would have tuned out for a while if the brunette hadn't leant over and introduced herself.

"Hi, I'm Scieszka – I'm Riza's supervisor," she said amiably, holding out a hand for him to shake.

Taking the hand and giving it a brief up-and-down, he replied in turn with a charming smile. "Roy Mustang – I'm Riza's husband."

"Well, I could have guessed that," she began amusedly, before her smile fell and her eyes widened. "Roy Mustang? Yo-you're _the_ Roy Mustang – the soccer player?" Her conjecture had gained the attention of the other two at the table, who now looked over in surprise.

"That's me," he stated simply.

Scieszka turned to Riza, cheeks flushed all of a sudden. "You've got to be kidding me! Why didn't you tell us that you were married to _Roy Mustang_? He's only the biggest name in sports today!"

"It didn't seem all that important," Riza mumbled with an apologetic smile. He was surprised – not because she hadn't told people, but rather because he hadn't seen her looking this meek since the visit they paid to her grandfather before they got married.

Across the table, the taller of the two men – boys, really – was trying to get Roy's attention. He looked over and allowed them to introduce themselves. Tringham, was it? Although their faces spoke of excitement, he could see the reserve in the way that they worded their speech.

"So what's the life of a professional soccer player like?" the elder of the two asked, and a glint of what Roy assumed was admiration sparked in his eyes. "All fame and glory? Getting recognised on the street?"

He laughed. "Well, it is a bit like that, but since most people are supporters of the team, it isn't too bad. It does get hard to just go for a walk, some days, though. Are you a player of the sport yourself?"

"Oh, I dabble in it from time to time," Tringham said, flicking his fringe out of his eyes. "I used to play for my school team, but this year we didn't have enough people try out, so I just kick a ball around for fun with Fletcher." He indicated towards his brother.

Roy nodded. Soccer was the best sport that had been invented – he played it so much that he couldn't think of anything that could possibly be better – but it had been losing popularity in the last year or two. That's why it was his purpose to play to the best of his ability and reinforce the world's love for the game.

"I assume that this is just some sort of part-time job you're doing here, then? Since you're still in school?" he asked. By this time Riza had turned and started chatting with Scieszka.

"Yeah," Russel admitted. "Our dad used to work in the company, so we figured if we got a job anywhere it might as well be with a place we know the reputation of. It's just clerking right now, and all that sort of thing, but we'll make our way to the top soon enough." The smirk on his face told Roy that the teenager meant exactly what he had just said.

He observed the two brothers with a smile. "That's the spirit." It was nice to see siblings get on so well. He saw a similar sort of relationship between Edward and Alphonse, but he had never gotten on all that well with his own sisters. Maybe it was only brothers that got on well together. Sisters seemed to get on well together, too. Or enough that they'd be able to gang up on him at times and– Well, those were bad childhood memories, and he was past them by now.

The rest of the night proceeded slowly. Every now and then a head would spin in his direction for a double take, and he found himself meeting more than just a few star-struck fans. This was why he didn't like going out to dinner much. The final straw was when the heads of the company got up on a small stage and started giving a speech, reminding everyone about what they'd built over the past twenty years, and thanking everyone for their loyal work.

When David Penn Senior was five minutes into his speech, and looked like he had no intention of stopping soon, Roy leant over to Riza and muttered quietly into her ear. "As soon as the speeches are over, we're leaving."

She looked at him with wide eyes, as though she hadn't suspected something of the sort. "They haven't even brought out dinner yet," she said, the stubborn undertone in her voice arising quickly.

So it was true – they had only been there for three quarters of an hour so far – but the fact was that Roy was already sick of it. She didn't expect him to stick around here for that long just to eat, did she? And what were the waiters going to bring out in the end? More than likely it'd be some sort of chicken or fish swamped in a cheesy sauce with boiled vegetables on the side. The only way they could make it any worse would be if it was pork, and there was bacon in the sauce as well. Meat (_fatty_ meat), cheese (dairy products weren't well known for their metabolism-increasing qualities, purely because they had the _opposite_ effect), and boiled vegetables (was there any quicker way to get all of the nutrients out of them?) – mmm, that sounded really healthy.

"Do we want to stick around for dinner?" he asked in confusion. She should know what sort of food these restaurants served. Had she decided she wanted to die young?

The piercing look he was suddenly on the receiving end of let him know that when they got home, tonight would not be a good night. What had he done? He was trying to help them! By leaving early, they'd escape further boredom here, and they'd be able to get their own cook to make something clean and not dripping with fat for their dinner, instead of eating whatever was served here.

"What?" That came out a little louder than he intended it to. The couple got a few blank looks from other members of the table, but soon enough everyone was paying attention to the speeches again. No one at any of the other tables seemed to have noticed, for which he was thankful.

"I'm having a good time here," she whispered forcefully. "_I_ want to stay."

He frowned. That was a bit selfish now, wasn't it? Just because she was having fun didn't mean that he was enjoying himself. She'd be able to talk with these people at work on Monday anyway, whereas he didn't want to spend a whole weekend trying to work off the half a meal he was going to have to eat – he would not touch that meat, even if it was fish.

"Just another fifteen minutes, then," he allowed generously.

The way that her jaw was set didn't appear conducive to him. "Roy," she hissed, "we've haven't even been here for an hour yet!"

"Well, you can stay longer if you want," he allowed generously. "I'll take a taxi home, and you can take the car. Or I can take the car and you can get a lift home from one of your friends."

"Stop it," she growled, glaring at him. "We're staying. If you really want to leave, we can go after dinner. Leaving before then would just be impolite." The finality of her tone closed the topic to discussion.

Bewildered as to why she would want to lengthen this torment, he sunk a few inches down into his seat and began playing with the place setting before him, twirling his fork between his fingers. When he glanced around at the faces at the table, it seemed that no one had heard their dispute. Or paid attention to it, in any case.

To his intense relief, when the two men finished their speeches – it seemed that the son had had very little to add to his father's fifteen minute ramblings, thank goodness – they announced that dinner would be brought around shortly. Roy cheered inwardly. Five minutes for the food to come, ten to 'eat' it, one to say their goodbyes, and then they'd be off and home in no time. Although it was longer than he had any wish to remain there, it was better than having to wait another half hour like he had almost expected.

As they waited for the food to come, he made conversation with the people around the table. Well, they were the ones making the conversation – he merely answered their questions and smiled reassuringly. It wasn't long before a plate was placed in front of him by a waitress, who quickly set down the other three she was carrying and rushed back out to grab some more.

He looked at the contents of the plate curiously. Yes, the sauce was cheesy, and it looked like the meat had been some sort of poultry when it was alive, but to the restaurant's honour, the vegetables did look somewhat edible. He stabbed at a piece of carrot and tasted it experimentally. Not _too _bad. A glance at Riza – who was talking between forks – showed him that she seemed perfectly content with the food on her plate. He could even see a section of the . . . chicken? Turkey? Whatever. He could see a section of the meat missing. He shuddered, but reminded himself that just because he was a vegetarian that didn't mean that she should always have to be one as well.

When he had managed to pick out and consume what he could of his dinner – he left a few sauce-covered pieces of broccoli – he turned to her with a pointed look. She met his glare and gestured to her own half-filled plate. Oh, yes, just another five minutes, because he hadn't been waiting for twenty already. He 'hmph'ed quietly and picked up his fork to rearrange the meat he hadn't touched, just so it looked as though he might have eaten some of it.

"You don't eat chicken?" the man to his left asked.

He looked up. "Oh. No, I don't eat meat," he said. "I'm a vegetarian."

"Really?" The fellow looked positively shocked – not in the way of a person discovering something new and different about someone else, but more in a horrified manner, as though he didn't know it was possible, and didn't want to know how. Roy grimaced – this man was one of _those_ people.

"If you like it, you can have it," he said, pushing his plate towards the man. As he did, he felt a hand on his arm.

"Roy." It was Riza.

He took one look at her nearly empty plate and the knife and fork both pointing up on her plate, and gave a sigh of relief. Finally, she was ready to go. He looked around the table and told everyone how nice it was to meet them – he could lie when he needed to – but that they had to be off now.

After shaking the hand of each person at their table, and one or two others on the way out, they finally managed to leave the room, and Roy gave a laugh. "Finally."

He ignored the glare he was getting from the woman behind him.


	12. In Which A Prince Is NotSoCharming

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy

**Notes:** This is another short one, but I really think it's worth it for the effct the chapter has. Not just because it helps with the plot, but also because it reveals a few little things, and because . . . well . . . I thought I wrote it well :3 Hopefully you think so too! Read on!

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**Chapter Eleven: In Which A Prince Is Not-So-Charming**

She strode into a silent house, attempting to ignore the infuriating calm he let off. He was walking a few steps behind her, and casually followed up the stairs only to split away at the top and head in the other direction – so that he could put the sleepy little girl in his arms to bed.

Without so much as a glance his way, she stormed into the bedroom, ripping the pillows from his side of the bed and tossing them out of the door before shutting it. She didn't care where he slept that night, but it was _not_ going to be in the same room as her.

She changed into a nightie and pulled her own pillows into the centre of the bed before crawling underneath the covers and turning off the light. Wait, what was she doing? She turned the lamp back on. She was so furious that she didn't know what to think. It was barely past Addy's normal bedtime at this point – Riza wouldn't be able to fall asleep now, no matter how hard she tried.

Tonight she didn't really feel like reading – she was too angry for that – so instead, she opened her book and stared at the page, letting thoughts of the night's events run through her mind. She allowed the aggravation of the night to wash over her, and sank further down into the bed, boiling with frustration.

Had he always been this self-centred? What on earth had possessed her to marry this imbecile? It certainly wasn't his patience – that was for sure. Or his selfless nature. No, she had to be swept off her feet by a regular Prince Charming, didn't she? But what they didn't tell in those fairy tales was that all of those 'happily ever after' endings were given only on account of the fact that those princesses _liked_ being trodden all over.

Riza may have been willing to play the domestic/trophy wife for some time, but if her husband was going to ignore her, or yell at her and mistreat her, then she had the right to go and do what she wanted with her own life. Yes, so she had a job now. Get over it, Mr. Charming, and act like your namesake!

The door opened, and 'Charming' himself chose that moment to step into the doorway, two pillows in one hand and an irritated expression on his face. "Why were these outside?"

"Because you're not sleeping in here tonight," she sniffed, keeping her eyes on the book she was still pretending to read.

"Ex_cuse_ me?"

"You're not sleeping in here tonight," she repeated, her eyes flashing dangerously as she looked up at him.

He took a step into the room and closed the door behind himself. "It's my bed, I'll sleep there if I want to," he growled, striding forwards and putting the pillows down on the end of the bed.

Sitting up as she was, Riza couldn't quite reach far enough to kick them off, but in consideration, that would have seemed a lot more like a child throwing a tantrum than an adult having an argument. Instead she put her book down and climbed out of bed, tugging the hem of her nightie down as she did so. She picked up his pillows, and thrust them back at him.

"I've slept on the lounge many a night, and it hasn't hurt me once," she told him. "I believe that it is _your_ turn to go and sleep somewhere else."

"Why?" he snarled.

Her eyes narrowed. "Because I'm sick of having to do everything the way that _you_ want it done."

He paused for a moment, staring furiously at her. "Since when have you done everything the way I want it?"

She took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out of her mouth in an attempt to calm herself a little. "Alright, let's see. I didn't get a job, because you wanted me to stay home and raise Addy; I changed my diet, because you were uncomfortable with my eating meat around you; I stopped lifting those piffly little _five kilogram_ weights, because you didn't want a wife with big muscles; I fired my personal trainer because you were afraid of the fact that he and I were alone in the house for two hours every few days; I stopped wearing dresses because you didn't like the way that other men looked at me; I don't drink juice at any point of the day other than the morning, because you say it has too much sugar in it; I converted to soymilk because–"

"Okay, okay!" His eyes were wide, but somehow it only made him look all the more aggravated with the situation. "I'll sleep in the bloody lounge room." He spun around on his heel and ripped the door open, storming out of the bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

Standing there hearing his footsteps stomp away somehow didn't make her feel any better.

* * *

So this is what he was reduced to. The lounge. He was demoted from owner of the bed to not even being allowed to sleep in it. And why? Because of a hundred little things that she hadn't even _told_ him she didn't like when he suggested them. Well, maybe she had asked why and gotten him to justify the excuse, but she had followed through with everything herself, hadn't she?

She had made the decision to stop drinking juice in the morning. She had made the decision to stop eating meat around him. She had made the decision to stop wearing dresses – it wasn't like he could pick her up and force her into pants or skirts; she'd slap him if he even tried.

Stupid woman. Well, if she had done all that stuff because he told her to, then he had . . . He had . . . He had stopped going to the park because she didn't like him training in front of all the women there! No wait, he hadn't. But he had started wearing a shirt when he did. No, he hadn't done that either. He had started wearing singlet. And he only took it off if it got really hot. There, that was something.

What else had he done? He had stayed with her all night at the hospital when she had that miscarriage while Addy was one. And he missed the soccer game the day after for it, too, just when his career was on the rise. Almost got him kicked off the team.

See? He _had_ sacrificed things for her. Where did she get the nerve to suggest that he'd always just been asking for things from her? He could be nice. If she wasn't so stubborn, it'd be a whole lot easier for him to be nice, that was for sure.

He rolled over in the pile of blankets, cursing when they became entangled in his legs and almost fell off the side of the lounge. With a grunt he sat up and pulled them back on as much as he could, so that they wouldn't fall off during the night.

Stupid woman. He had done things for her.


	13. In Which Marriage Isn’t Necessarily Happ

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy

**Notes:** It's another short one here, but that's okay because we get to re-meet an old friend. I can't believe we're this far in the story already. It doen't seem like it's been this long . . . Okay people, enjoy this chapter (erm, please?) because even if the next one's longer, it won't be quite as nice. See, I'm giving you fair warning! -ahem- Yes. Read on! Reviews are all loved, and replied to where possible :3

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**Chapter Twelve: In Which Marriage Isn't Necessarily Happy**

Back at work the next week, the new management had swiftly thrown together a meeting in the conference room to introduce themselves and their aims to some of the higher ups in the company. Considering that this was supposed to last for the whole day Riza had to work on her own for now – Scieszka had been dragged off to do her boss's work for the day – and someone else would have to check her calculations when she was done.

She had just finished the last in a long line of equations to decide on the placement of pylons – which she had been working on for some time now – and set her pen down. She hadn't expected to get it finished so early. It was ten minutes until lunch-time, and going through the whole document to make sure the equations were right would take a lot longer than that. She couldn't start a new project without having her last one looked over by someone, and didn't want there to be half a dozen mistakes when she handed it over. She also didn't like the idea of having to stop in the middle of something just to eat.

Looking irritably at her watch, a thought struck her. They were given an hour for lunch, and could start that hour at any time of the day, just as long as when their time was up they got back to work. The only reason she was so set on starting her break at twelve was because that was the time that Roy had set at home, with his rules about maintaining regular eating times.

In an act of defiance, she took her pen back up. It didn't matter if it took her an hour and a half to check through the whole piece of work thoroughly – she still had time to go to lunch afterwards. She didn't have to put up with Roy and his stupid rules, even if they were "For your own good."

When only an hour later she stood in line at the bakery, the triumphant smile lazed subtly over her lips. Triumph, because not only had she defied Roy, but she had found only two mistakes in all of her working. She was getting back into the swing of the mathematics of engineering, and that deserved a celebration of sorts. Maybe she'd get a spinach and fetta roll. No, maybe an apple scroll – or better yet, a _pie_. With plenty of sauce. And tell Roy about it when she got home. Now _that_ would be the icing on the cake. Thinking about cake . . . A quiet burst of laughter made its way out of her mouth.

"No, that can't be right," muttered the person behind her in the line.

She turned around, confused. When her eyes caught onto the person's face, a frown instantly made its ways into her features.

"That's more like it," he said with a smile.

It was the man from the soccer, a month or two ago. She didn't remember his name – she didn't _want_ to remember his name – but his face was etched too well into her memory to be able to forget.

"I almost thought it must have been someone else," he told her with a sly smile. "You weren't much in the mood for laughing when we met at the stadium. Well, not this sort of laughter," he amended, waving a hand about. She leant away from the hand a little, simultaneously trying not to bump into the person in front of her. "It's Riza, right?"

She gave him a frosty glare – she couldn't remember having told him that, but then half of the 'conversation' they had had was a blur or him trying to talk, and her trying to avoid him. Without answering his question, she turned back to count how many people were left between her and the counter. Two. If she'd just come in earlier, she wouldn't have had to see this man again. Stupid Roy and his rules. Why couldn't he not have put it in place so that she didn't feel the need to defy it?

"Well, even if you're not answering me, I know it is anyway. My nephew was doing a project on sportspeople the other week, and when I saw he was doing it about your husband I had to tell him I knew you. I don't think I introduced myself to you properly then. My name's Emlyn Greed." He smiled over the top of the circular sunglasses he was wearing.

"Yes, you said that," she said, without taking her eyes off the menu on the bakery's back wall.

"Ahh, so you haven't lost all powers of speech," he said, his grin evident in the sound of his voice.

"No. Fancy that." Oh, thank heavens – the two people in front of her were together. She'd be out of here sooner.

"Haven't lost your dry wit, either," came the still-smiling response. There was a pause when she didn't reply, and a moment later he spoke again. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in having lunch with me?"

She turned to look at him, scowling. "You know very well that I'm married."

"True, but married doesn't necessarily mean happily married."

For a split second, her face was the very picture of shock. She quickly schooled it into an expression of outrage. "And what's that supposed to mean?" This was getting a little too close for comfort. She needed to get out of this conversation as soon as possible without giving him the impression that he was right.

"It's not supposed to mean anything," he said, adopting a more serious face – more contemplative. "Just that when your husband takes your daughter's hand, and only calls for you to follow behind him, it doesn't give the impression that all is right in your little world."

She stared incredulously at his overconfident smirk and raised eyebrow. "What are you – a psychologist?" It sounded a lot better on her part than asking if he was a reporter. With so many probing questions, she was certain that he was about to reveal the headline for the next day's article he was writing – about the Mustangs and their marriage failure.

But he only laughed. "No. I'm a humble businessman, doing my best to climb the ladder. Who knows – one day I might raise high enough to be seen at the same parties that a woman of your social status must get invited to all the time."

There was little chance of that. The only parties she got invited to were those that Roy was invited to – all to do with soccer, or the members of the team. For a businessman to be invited to those he'd have to be running the catering, or the cleaning company.

The couple being served left and Riza stepped forwards to place her order.

"So what are you doing in this part of town? It's not a residential area, so you can't live around here, but you don't have any shopping bags either. Just window shopping, then?"

She paid, and walked towards the door as quickly as she could without breaking into a jog.

"I suppose that I'll see you later, again. Maybe at another soccer game."

"Who knows, maybe we'll never meet again." She called over her shoulder.

"I wouldn't count on it, Riza."

The door closed behind her, and a shiver ran down her spine. She hoped that she never had to see him again. As she walked back towards the building she worked in, she realised that he had distracted her enough that she had bought the spinach and fetta roll, after all. She scowled.


	14. In Which Revelations Are To Be Had

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy

**Notes:** I have two _very_ good reasons for being a day and a half late to post this. Reason number one: a test and an essay, completed and handed in yesterday and the day before. Reason number two: flooding. Apparently if you look on the weather thingy-ma-bob, it looks like a cyclone. I'm alive, and the rain stopped in the past hour or so, so the points in the road where water is waist high (about two kilometres from my house) won't be getting deeper, at the very least. People have drowned, others are missing. For my readers who believe in God, I would appreciate your prayers for the people who are being affected by this.

Okay, now I have my flood statement out of the way, here we have the story. There is a certain -cough- revelation in the first section of this chapter. It would be a great place for me to start a new chapter just after that section, because it ends so well, but it was only eight hundred or so words, and I think that that's a bit of a bad attempt on my part, so I included other sections afterwards. Please, let me know what you think. I really want to know :D

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**Chapter Thirteen: In Which Revelations Are To Be Had**

By the end of training that week he sat on the bench, resentfully watching the others go through drills. He'd managed to pull his hamstring, and was told to go sit it out today so that he wouldn't tear the muscle and put himself completely out of commission for weeks.

At least this time it was a health reason and not a skill reason that had placed him on the bench. All the same, this wasn't good for his image, self-confidence, or his game. This was terrible. He had been told that he wouldn't be able to play in the matches this week, but should be fine after that. What great timing _that_ was!

When the others left to wander into the showers, Maes came and sat by him. The bespectacled man took one look at Roy's sullen posture and sighed.

"What now, Roy?"

He looked up, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Another argument with Riza?"

"_No._"

"Try again, bucko," Maes said sarcastically. The man's voice got more aggravated as he went on. "You just pulled your hamstring because you went to kick the ball and _missed_. You. Roy Mustang. You missed the ba–"

"Alright, already!" Why did Maes always have to know when he was upset? It was becoming too much of a trend, and Roy couldn't stand it. It was as though he could read Roy like a book. A book sitting open to the current page, in large-print type so even people with bad vision couldn't miss it.

"So why did you miss the ball, then?"

Roy clicked his jaw shut. If he had to listen to Maes going on about his perfect family one more time, he'd just have to jump up and throttle the man. Nothing was perfect in Roy's life. Not since his career had just started slipping, anyway. He couldn't already be going down in the world. Not when he had to support–

"_Why_ did you _miss_ the _ba_–?"

"I slept with another woman, okay!?"

"–_ll _. . ."

Both men fell silent, and the stadium took on an eerie stillness. Roy found himself looking over his shoulder to make sure that no one else was around, and that no one had overheard what he had said.

"What?" Now this was a first – the tone in Maes' voice gave him an air of genuine confusion rather than the persistent whine he'd adopted lately. He almost sounded hurt. "B-but . . . Why? When did this happen?"

Roy crouched forwards, his head in his hands, and elbows on his knees. He really didn't want to be thinking about this. In fact, he'd tried his hardest to forget it, but how could he when the evidence of it lay in his everyday life? "It was just . . ." It wasn't _just_ anything. It was him being a complete idiot – no 'just' or 'but' or 'little bit' about it. "Two years ago," he said, answering the question he could.

"_Why?_" Maes asked again, his eyes wide. The expression on his face made him look horrified. The pain the older man showed put Roy in mind of what Addy might have looked like if he and Riza had ever had to tell her they were getting a divorce. Luckily it hadn't come to that. He didn't think he'd be able to stand the same expression on his daughter.

"I don't know. I don't even remember it anymore!" Now that was a lie. She had been a crafty, buxom brunette who lavished attentions on him all night before seducing him, and not even demanding a pay-off the very next morning. It was just lucky for him that she hadn't gone to the media anyway – then his whole career would have been over, Addy's life would have been ruined, and Riza . . . Well, who knows what Riza might have done if the one thing keeping them together now – Addy's safety – was already compromised.

Maes frowned – Roy knew it had been a bad idea to tell him. "So, I take it then that Riza knows?" Roy nodded. "How long has she known for?"

"I told her about a month after it happened" – a strangled groan escaped from Maes' throat – "which made it all the worse, because then she was angry I'd kept it from her for that long, too. But things calmed down," he admitted. "We decided we didn't want to make something big of it, for Addy's sake. She's got it tough already – she doesn't need to grow up with her parents divorced, as well."

"Things calmed down?" Again, that sound of genuine confusion popped into Maes' voice. This story and the current situation didn't fit together. "If things calmed down, then why are there so many problems still?"

Now this was the hardest part; the 'minor detail' that had put Roy on the receiving end of the silent treatment for a whole week. Seven days. One-hundred and forty-eight hours. Not a single word, laugh or smile – not even a tear. She had barely looked at him. It was like torture. "Some time last year the . . . 'other woman' turned up on the doorstep with a baby."

He couldn't even look up to meet Maes' eyes, but the man let out another groan, and a sickly-sounding "Roy . . ."

Roy's eyes couldn't focus on the stadium before him. His hands twisted together, fidgeting, and he continued on. "Right in front of Addy and all, she starts making this huge fuss about child-support payments. At this stage, Riza wasn't having me stay behind with Sylvia while she took Addy away, so I drove Addy to my parents and by the time I came back, Riza and Sylvia were sitting there, glaring at each other so hard it's a surprise that they hadn't turned to stone." The two women had looked about ready to pick up cutlery and start throwing it. He wasn't sure whether they would have kept from it so well if the baby hadn't been in the room.

He stared at the grass beneath his feet. Another long silence passed, and he turned again to check that no one had come out of the change rooms yet.

Maes wasn't talking, but Roy didn't blame him. It was a lot to suddenly process that his best friend had fathered a child through an affair. It didn't even help that it was a one-night stand.

The odd thing was – and Roy had thought about this many times before – that if it had been a one night stand and there was no baby, then it could be a problem much more easily resolved. An incredibly stupid, disloyal and idiotic mistake, but he regretted it wholeheartedly, and he'd never go back to the brunette. If it had been a long-term relationship, that would have been hard for Riza to bear, but she would have grit her teeth and told him not to do it again – that's the sort of woman she was. But now there was a child involved the fact that he only did it once and didn't plan to repeat the action didn't help him the slightest bit. There was a permanent result already, and he couldn't change it no matter how much he tried. The monthly payments affirmed that.

"So . . . How old is the kid?" Maes was obviously trying to accustom himself to the idea, but the fact that neither of them could look the other in the eye showed just how devastating the news was.

It took Roy a second to calculate. "Must be about . . . sixteen months now. His name's Bryce," he added, and after a pause, "He's got my eyes."

"Roy, I j- I just . . . I can't–" Maes stuttered.

Roy let out a harsh bark of laughter. "And that's what's ruined my marriage," he said with a forced smile. "Add to that the guilt, resentment and stubbornness that accumulates over a period of time – oh, and the fact that my wife thinks I'm a controlling bastard – and that's how we've made it here!"

Without a mind for his pulled hamstring, he rose to his feet and limped away, leaving Maes alone on the bench. He didn't feel like facing Riza tonight. Somehow talking about something just made it seem as though it was that time again, and he couldn't help but feel that he'd get home and she'd be there avoiding his eyes and not talking to him once again. Just like the old days. Maybe he'd choose to sleep on the couch – it was just like going out camping, anyway.

* * *

Riza didn't hear the door open and slam shut when Roy got home. She was too busy swimming furious laps in the pool. It may haev been winter, but she needed to expel her energy somehow. Two more times that week – even when she changed the time that she left to go to lunch – she had met 'Mr. Greed' at the bakery again.

Both times he was dressed as the professional businessman, his round sunglasses sitting on the bridge of his nose yet again. He didn't carry a briefcase with him, which told her that rather than just passing through he must have actually worked in the area. Either that or he'd left his things in his car, which might have been parked nearby.

On the Wednesday he had arrived just before she was served, so she was able to get away within two simple minutes. On the Thursday she had considered not going to that bakery, in case he came again, but instead she went early and didn't see him. On the Friday she had run late with the document she was working on, and managed to get to the bakery at the same time as he had. They exchanged glances – his amused, and hers stubborn – and he opened the door for her. She wasn't about to start getting her lunch from somewhere else just because he was there. He wasn't going to 'scare' her away. She marched through with her nose in the air.

"This is becoming a habit, Riza. If you didn't get here before me the other day, I'd think that you've been following me," he grinned, sliding his sunglasses from the bridge of his nose up into his hair.

She looked at him in shock. "Following you? I can't avoid you – I don't want to _follow_ you."

He ignored her and went right on, laughing. "I think I see you more often than I see my family. Isn't that enough that we must be becoming friends by now?"

"Now that's too much for even you to believe," she scoffed. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and mentally cursed the time it was taking the man at the counter to decide what he wanted to get.

"No, I think that you find me dashing," he told her, smiling slyly and nudging her in the ribs with his elbow.

Her arms uncrossed quickly, ready to push him away, but he merely smiled at her again – that agonising, self-assured smirk that seemed so familiar – and raised his eyebrows, already back where he had been standing beforehand. Still too close. If it wasn't so busy in the bakery she was sure that one of the bakery workers would notice and tell him off for harassing a customer. As it was, however, they were all preoccupied out the back or serving the uncertain customers at the counter.

The very moment she had her lunch Riza had left the bakery and strode back to work at the fastest walking pace she could manage. He would _not _make her run.

Now, she swam laps in the pool to cool herself off. The exercise should have been helping her to get it off her mind, but it wasn't working yet. She angrily pushed herself off the wall to swim her thirtieth lap.

* * *

That weekend, during the game against Drachma, Roy watched purely from a spectator's view. It gave him a different perspective – that was for sure. In his mind the advantages and disadvantages equalled out; he couldn't play, but he could see all of the players on the field and how their performances were going.

Soon into the match he was able to see just why Amestris' players from the North, who played as the team's defenders, were better against the Drachmans – Buccaneer and Miles' tackles were more based around strength and power than the agility the players from Central relied on. This also meant that in penalty kicks, Buccaneer was able to boot the soccer ball three-quarters of the way up the field and make it past the Drachmans, rather than only to the half-way mark, as most other players could manage. It wasn't just the distance, but the power with which the ball moved – it sped past the Drachmans trying to get to the goals, and right into the waiting feet of an Amestrian player.

By the end of the game, Roy was still upset that he hadn't been able to play, but he was glad that he'd been able to make the observations of his team. As the Team Captain, it would help him to understand how to direct them.


	15. In Which Daughters Are Smaller Than Wive

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy

**Notes:** After the fuss of the last chapter, I've tried to show Roy in a bit of a lighter setting here. Let's face it, that's what has happened in the past. He may not have meant it (-cough-hewasdrunkandshewasawitch-cough-) but it happened and that's what triggered their marrige into becoming so stale. Of course for it to continue to get this bad it was the fault of both of them for not doing anyhing about it. So, to make it even out a little so that you're not all thinking that Roy's still acting like a complete idiot now (he's only a partial idiot now, as compared to before) I've tried to just make him appear a bit softer.

Also, the flood (flash flood) has stopped now. The radio said that they were expecting similar weather to come again last night, but it only rained a little and the wind was barely there as compared to the practically Wizard of Oz conditions there had been. Some places are still recovering, and I'm certain that there have been more deaths in the meantime, but the weather has gone back to normal winter weather now. We have blue skies and gaps in the clouds. Thank you for all of your kind thoughts and prayers :)

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: In Which Daughters Are Smaller Than Wives**

Another Monday morning, and Riza sat at her desk again. Hopefully there would be fewer encounters this week. Maybe she should start getting the chef they employed at home to prepare a lunch for her. The thought itself made her feel childish. She'd never backed down before, and she wouldn't now.

Then she heard something that chilled her blood. She was sitting there at her desk, and yet a familiar voice sounded out in the corridor. A familiar smirking, over-confident voice.

In a moment the voice had faded off, down the hallway. Resisting the urge to leap up and look down the corridor to see if Emlyn had just walked by the office she shared with Sciezska, she jumped when someone appeared in the doorway.

"One too many coffees, Riza?" Sciezska asked, suppressing a laugh at the relieved look on Riza's face as she walked over to her own desk.

Riza mumbled a non-committal answer, eyes darting to the empty doorway. "Who was that out in the hall a minute ago?"

Sciezska frowned in confusion. "Who . . ? Oh, you mean Mr. Greed?"

Her stomach quivered. Was this guy actually following her, or was this yet another 'coincidence' to add to the bakery visits? She thought that stalkers only happened to famous . . . Well, to movie-stars.

"Yeah," continued Sciezska, ignorant to her friend's discomfort. "He's not as bad as I thought he'd be. Treats us employees with a bit more respect than Penn Senior did, anyway."

Was really Sciezska implying what she thought she was implying? Riza's eyes had become the size of saucers. "He's the new owner of the company!?"

Surprised, Sciezska stopped. "Didn't you know that?"

"No!"

"Oh. Well he is." Thank you Ms. Obvious. "That's why the company's new name is _Seven Sins' Bridge Building, Inc._ – he and his family own different businesses, and apparently each of them have the last name of one of the seven sins." Sciezska giggled. "I asked if they changed their names to make it all fit, but he just said 'Greed by name, greedy by nature,' so I'm not quite sure what that was supposed to mean."

Riza was in shock. Not only did the only person she felt like hitting more often than Roy work in the same building as her, but he was the owner of the company she worked for. With a groan, she buried her head in her hands.

"Riza? Are you alright?"

If she didn't look up, then she couldn't see Sciezska's genuinely worried expression and be forced out of her funk by guilt. "I'm fine. Just a headache."

Maybe he didn't know that she worked for him. Maybe he was entirely unaware of the situation, and just knew that she worked somewhere on the same block. It didn't have to be certain that he knew she was there – he could be entirely oblivious. In fact, if it wasn't for the bakery, he wouldn't even remember she existed by now.

Maybe.

Possibly.

Hopefully.

Crap.

* * *

"Maes?"

"Roy, is that you?"

Roy's hand gripped tightly around the telephone. "Yeah, it's me."

"You sound so quiet . . . Are you okay?"

"I just . . ." he sighed irritably. "I . . . Would _you_ be able to forgive me?"

"Roy . . . it's not me that you wronged."

He was right – it wasn't like Roy had slept with Gracia, or somehow cheated on Maes (found a new best friend?), or anything remotely of that sort, but that wasn't the problem. He knew what a break of trust a piece of news like this could be. What on earth must Maes think right now? "I know, but I can't help feeling that now you'll be annoyed at me too." Roy clenched and unclenched his fist to try and relieve some of his tension.

"This isn't a broken plate – it's a big thing to deal with, Roy," Maes told him. Roy could almost hear the frown on his face. "It'll take a while to process, but it isn't me you should be worrying about. I know that you and Riza must have been over this a hundred times, but it's really her that you need to be talking with, not me."

". . . Yeah, I know." He just didn't want to lose his best friend for the same reason that he'd pretty much lost his wife. "Riza's not even . . . She's not even like a friend to me anymore, though. She's just a part of my life via some scrap of legislation. You don't have some law saying you have to stay with me – I don't want you to disappear from my life."

The voice on the other end of the phone seemed a bit taken aback. "It's alright, Roy. I'm not going anywhere."

He found himself suddenly sitting on the floor of his office, clutching the phone to his ear. "Really?"

There was an exasperated sigh on the other end, but the tone of Maes' voice was reassuring. "Of course not. You're an _idiot_, but I'm here."

A shaky smile pushed its way onto Roy's face. "Thank you." He had been afraid he'd just lost his best friend – Maes hadn't given him more than a preoccupied "Hello; how's it going?" since Roy had confessed to him over a week ago. Evidently Maes had just needed some time to contemplate the idea.

"So I'll see you tomorrow?" Maes asked when the silence had been settling for long enough.

"Yeah. Tomorrow, then," replied Roy. He hung up, and an intense wave of relief washed over him. Even if his marriage was ruined not everything in his life was going to be wrecked by this, then.

Standing up, he ran a hand through his hair and stretched. He gave a last contemplative – and thankful – look at the phone, and walked out to the living room where Addy sat watching a DVD. For two minutes he stood behind the couch, watching the television screen and trying to determine what it was, but every Disney movie looked the same to him – talking cartoon animals and tragic heroines who were too happy for their circumstances.

"What are you watching?"

She turned around with a jump, and grinned cheekily at him, not having noticed he was there. In an instant she was on her feet and had the DVD case of Anastasia for him to look at. He looked from the cover to her expression, trying to understand the reason she looked so guilty.

It took him a moment, but he found it. "PG? Honey, this has got some violence in it – are you sure you won't get scared?"

Denying all claims, she told him that she didn't get scared, but he laughed. She was a seven-and-a-half-year-old child who made either Riza or himself check her wardrobe at least twice a month. He was surprised that the words 'not' and 'scared' were capable of being mixed in her vocabulary.

"Maybe it's better if Mummy or I watch it with you. Do you know where Mummy is?"

Addy thrust one elongated arm off to her left, towards the exercise rooms, and Roy's gentle smile fell. That wasn't good. If Riza was in there again . . .

She'd been swimming and jogging most days for two weeks, now. Sure, she hadn't been taking out her problems on Roy – which had been a change – but the mood she was in carried along for most of the day, and made the atmosphere of the house almost unbearable. The only time it had been safe for him to approach her was when she'd just been with Addy, because she was calmer then.

"Alright. I'll watch the movie with you, then," he said. He didn't want to confront Riza right now. Just because he had been thinking about what had happened didn't mean that she had been too, but she was annoyed with something or other and he didn't want to chance it.

Easing down onto the couch, it took a whole two seconds before Addy scrambled over to sit next to him and cuddled up to his chest. She was just like Riza before the whole Sylvia fuss, except smaller – and his daughter. He sighed and settled down to watch the rest of the movie with his arm around her.

Who-knows-how-long later, he found himself being poked awake with a pair of dark eyes staring back into his, angry that he fell asleep when he was watching the movie with her. When he didn't want to watch it again she pouted.

Realising how tired he felt, Roy swung up onto his feet. "It's bedtime," he announced. Addy's upset expression led him to add "For the both of us," in a decisive tone, the result of which was that ten minutes later he was crawling on his hands and knees, being a horsy because it was the only way he could get her to go to bed.

Soon he had tucked her in, checked the wardrobe for monsters (it must have been the movie that did it), given her a goodnight kiss, and turned the light out. Easy enough work, really. Somewhat more hesitantly he made his way back towards the exercise rooms and opened the doorway between them and the living room as silently as possible.

He could hear the exercise bike whirring away before he saw Riza, red-faced, and with sweat all over her. In her training clothes he could see just how thin she was, and knew that the bike, and the running and swimming was all pointless. She must have been doing about the same amount of training as he did, now.

"Riza?"

She looked over; the expression on her face was openly irritated as she puffed slightly, and slowed her legs from their busy circuits to a milder pace.

"I've just put Addy to bed. She'll be asleep already if you have a shower first–" He faltered as she glared. Of course – the 'controlling' thing. "I-I'm sure it doesn't matter."

Instead of staying in the room when she was in _that_ mood, he turned and walked out, scratching at his forehead. He didn't mind what she did, really – it was all her own choice. Just as long as she had a shower before she came to bed tonight.

Soon after he was in bed – having turned out his own lights like the big boy he was – she sauntered in and went straight through to their en-suite after grabbing her nightie. He watched her carefully. To his relief she seemed a little less put-out than she had before, which would be due to her having been with Addy a moment ago.

The sound of water running through the pipes began, and Roy rolled onto his side.

She was in bed, facing away from him, before he managed to get to sleep. His eyelids would keep on drifting shut, but the action in his mind wouldn't stop for long enough for him to drift off. Riza was tossing and turning a little bit, but that was normal.

Finally it seemed like he was just about to drift off, then his bedside light turned on with a 'click' and a small hand urgently pushed at him.

"Addy?" He scrubbed at his eyes, trying to keep them open so that he could pay attention. "What's wrong?"

He didn't need her words to know the movie had scared her – he could see it in her quivering lip – but he waited patiently for her explanation, and rolled a little closer to the edge of the bed.

"Hop in."

The girl needed no further encouragement, and scrambled over to fill the space between her parents. Riza, who had been asleep until now, awoke with a start.

She squinted in his direction, shielding her eyes from the light. It took her a moment to notice Addy, but when explanations were through she told him to shut off the light, and said – more gently – that Addy should sleep.

They all rolled over and closed their eyes.


	16. In Which Revelations Are Explained From

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy

**Notes:** Surprise! An early update! Happy Royai Day, everyone. I know that some of you aren't quite in Royai Day yet, which is why I'm also posting a chapter tomorrow! Yaay! This chapter is a bit short, and not very Royai-ish, but it's still to do with the pair, and the other piece I was working on isn't anywhere near complete enough to post today. I don't know when it will be done - it should only be a one shot, but I don't know how to get around to the point of it, so I've sort of slacked off on it. Well, anyway. Here's your Royai Day chapter, and I hope that it helps to explain a few things to you. I apologise for the slight language in the start. I was wary about putting it in, but the tone of the story wasn't quite right without it.

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: In Which Revelations Are Explained From Another Point Of View**

Herself the epitome of high society, and her husband in the public eye at all times, Riza hadn't expected Roy's affair. She had no reason to suspect her formally loving husband to have slept with some hussy. No matter how he explained it away – stupidity, drunkenness, being out of his mind, or what have you – it had grown to become an unsightly blemish upon their relationship.

She had taken the news with shock, and a certain level of offence that the saintliest of women in her place couldn't have avoided. But he had been off his face, and the woman was some two-bit whore who Roy seemed to believe when she said she would never speak of it again. Riza hadn't been able to stifle her revulsion at the confession, but ever the loyal wife and concerned mother, she had taken what Roy had done and put it behind her as well as she could.

Then that Sylvia _slut_ dared to show up on their doorstep with the baby. That damned child, without a say in the matter, had torn through her heart as though it was paper, ripping each piece smaller and smaller. There was no way that they could even test to be sure the child was Roy's because any doctor they went to was just another person to let into the secret, and who might possibly blab to the media, and then this whole thing would be over the papers. That way, even if the child wasn't his, if a paternity test had been necessary the media would still know that he had an affair. Roy and Riza had just had to just assume that the child was his.

In the twenty or so minutes Roy had taken to get Addy to his parents' home and come back, that _woman_ had looked Riza boldly in the eye, and said "Now whenever he looks at his daughter, he'll remember his son. Whenever he looks at you, he'll remember me. He'll be living in this house, but his thoughts will be in mine. You'll be a trophy wife now – still around for appearances, but I will always be the woman he had on the side."

If the woman hadn't still been holding the baby that would have been the point at which Riza slapped her. Child-ridden as she was, however, Riza had instead grit her teeth and let her eyes bore into those of the woman in front of her.

She and Roy hadn't been on the best of terms since he informed her of the affair, but after Sylvia's possessive little speech Riza couldn't bear to let him touch her, for fear that he would call out the other woman's name instead. What if he really did think of her every time he looked at Riza?

Things hadn't been the same since. Neither had wanted to mention the issue, because they were sure it would just complicate things and make it worse, so instead they got used to treading around the house quietly, and neither could look at the other in the same way – he was too absorbed by his guilt, and she was too scared that she'd find evidence that he didn't love her anymore in his eyes. Fears all too easily turned themselves into assured facts when she wasn't brave enough to make sure they weren't true, and over years it became solid fact in her mind that if he didn't have Addy to worry about, he would have been by Sylvia's side in a flash.

Never mind that he had spent years loving Riza, and – according to him – that woman had been a mistake he didn't even know how he made.

She often wondered how that woman had explained Bryce's birth to her family. Was she pretending to have been artificially inseminated, or was she loose enough that they'd believe it was "just some guy"? Or maybe the woman had said she'd been raped, and was raising the child "from the kindness of her heart." The longer Riza thought about it, the more ludicrous ideas came to mind.

Bryce himself – there was an issue. How old was a child before they learnt to ask "Why don't I have a Daddy?" He must have been almost one and a half by now – just learning to talk, maybe. How was the mother going to explain that minor detail to a child?

* * *

It had been so stupid of him. He still didn't remember what had possessed him to make that decision. There was no doubt about it that his affair had been the cause of their falling apart. Sometimes nowadays, when all that was in his mind was the apathy with which they tended to treat each other, he wasn't so sure that it might not have happened anyway.

There were times when he remembered the 'good ole days', back when they both seemed so in tune with what the other was thinking. It was so easy to be able to get on well with each other when he felt comfortable asking her what was wrong rather than just assuming it would be "nothing", yet again. It had been so simple to understand her when she'd just burrow her head into his shoulder and tell him what had happened to make her upset.

Now, instead, he understood _what_ she did but not why. She fumed, she raged – she exercised – all because she was angry, but he couldn't understand why beyond the fact that everything hadn't gone the way she wanted it to. She used to be more hospitable, and would just tell him "If we can't get it done that way, then maybe this will work." Those times were long gone. It seemed that she stopped protesting after the affair. She would just do things as he told her, and now she took offence at that.

What was he supposed to do when everything seemed like a wrong move? Sure, they had their good days when arguments didn't pop up from everything, but how often did those happen? Once every few months? He was probably exaggerating, but it really did seem as though those comfortable days flew by, and they were gone in an instant.

He might have been controlling, but he was sure it was more from her perspective than in anything that he actually did. Since she stopped trying to work things out, and just did or didn't do what he suggested, it must have made him seem more forceful. But it wasn't about control. Not really, anyway. It was just his way of taking care of her, but she didn't seem to see that.

She had been so pleased when she first got a job, but now he suspected that his not-so-reserved reservations about it had been leaning towards the right idea. She was upset more often than she used to be, and he couldn't live with it. He'd have to speak to her about it some time, but he wasn't sure when he could talk to her and not have his head bitten off. It wasn't safe.

They had stayed together for Addy's sake, but now that he thought about it, he didn't want Addy to have to grow up in a place like this. But . . . he didn't want a divorce. He just wanted the old Riza back. The nice, gentle, loving Riza. Was that so much to ask?


	17. In Which Time Passes Very Quickly

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy

**Notes: **Well, here's the chapter for the _other _side of the world's Royai Day! This chapter is a bit longer, and it's . . . well, it starts off better than it finishes. This system is my way of passing a lot of time right here. From the start to the end of the chapter about six months pass, so some things will be a bit different when we get to the next chapter. Erm, I think that's all I need to mention. I hope you all enjoy it, and thank you for your continued support :)

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: In Which Time Passes Very Quickly**

Ever since she had discovered that Emlyn _owned_ the company she worked for, Riza had been torn between going to that bakery or just staying in her office and working. If she went she might bump into him again. If she stayed at the office he'd be in the building anyway, so she might see him anyway. There really wasn't a way she could avoid the man.

So she was at the bakery – "Hello, there." – and without fail, he had turned up.

Unsure of how she was supposed to behave – she couldn't decide whether to give him a dose of the usual loathing, or if she should act with the polite behaviour she should be giving to her boss – she looked at him once, and left.

* * *

"_Roy, honey . . ."_

"_Mmm?" He pulled her close to his chest, smiling contentedly to himself when she gave a low laugh._

_After a moment, she pushed away to catch his eyes and make sure he was listening. The grin on his face said otherwise, but she raised her eyebrows to let him know she was serious._

"_I'm listening," he prodded._

"_I'm pregnant."_

_He blinked in shock. "But . . . we've only been married two months. Are you sure?" He didn't need her pointed stare to realise that was a stupid question, but still she watched him carefully. "It's just such a little amount of time, that's all. No – it's great news, I'm just surprised!"_

_A smile spread over her lips, lighting up her whole face, and she snuggled closer to his chest. "I'm glad you're happy."_

_It did seem a little sudden – two months wasn't very long, after all – but it would be nice to have another Roy or Riza padding around the house. Someone to call him 'Daddy'. He grinned again. Mummy Riza. Allowing himself to explore the idea further, he pressed a kiss to her hair._

* * *

And it happened again. She turned and left, even though there was only one person ahead of her in the line.

"I'll see you back at the office, then?"

She froze. Well, at least she wasn't dreading the day he found out, now. Obviously he already knew that they both worked there, despite the fact that he wasn't acting as though she was one of his employees.

* * *

"_I don't understand!" she sobbed, looking up at him worriedly. "It sounds as though she isn't breathing properly, but the doctors say that nothing's wrong! They keep running tests, but nothing's come up yet . . ."_

_He sat there, confused, and wrapped his arms around his wife, who was still in her hospital gown as she sat on the edge of the hospital bed. "I- I'm sure it's okay. They said she was perfectly healthy when she was born."_

_With red eyes and a runny nose, she kept glancing over towards the doorway, anxiously waiting for a doctor to arrive with a diagnosis. She struggled with her words. "But she's __**not**__! I can hear her . . . hissing, and making these __**noises**__. I don't know what it is, but it can't be okay! It can't be healthy!"_

_Roy himself was unnerved by the description, but he had to be strong for Riza's sake. She needed to know it was alright. "Do you want me to go and find a doctor?"_

_After a pause of consideration, she shook her head. "No, they'll come to us when they know what's wrong. If you go and find one, you'll probably get the wrong one, anyway – too many to pick from here."_

_Swallowing to calm herself, she waved her hand over towards the tissues, and Roy leant over to grab them for her. It was hard enough for him to learn that their two-day-old daughter had something wrong with her – he couldn't imagine how bad it was for Riza, who had already lived with the girl for eight months._

* * *

"Not leaving today, then? Good, because I was starting to think that I was turning you off food. Wouldn't want you to get too skinny, would I?"

". . . I don't think that should be any of your concern."

"Why's that?"

"Ahh, that's alright. You just don't want me to be interested in what's happening in your life."

"It's my life. We are neither friends, nor lovers, and I don't think that you should be taking such an interest in me."

"You hurt me. Why can't we be friends? I'm perfectly amiable, as you can see for yourself, and yet you keep pushing me away. I'm sure we'd make a great duo if you'd only talk to me once."

"I'm not interested in becoming your friend."

"Another arrow through my heart! Is that really the way that you should speak to your employer?"

"Don't tell me that the only way you'll be polite to me is if I pull rank on you?"

"Fine; talk to me."

"I'm sorry, but it doesn't say in my job description that I have to speak to you."

"But wouldn't that mean that you were disobeying orders, and I'm legally entitled to fire you?"

"I'm good at my work, I get on well with other employees–"

"But not me, and isn't it my opinion that counts?"

"Yes, it _is_. Ah, my order's ready. I'll see you tomorrow, then, Riza – if not before."

* * *

_A white coat and clipboard stood before them, glasses balancing on his nose. His face was calm and still as he relayed the news to the worried parents._

"_We've run a few tests, and have discovered the reason Adelaide is making those sounds. What we didn't notice before is that she hasn't been crying – she's been screwing up her eyes and making those noises, and that is why it looked as though she's in pain." He took a breath and looked at the confused expressions on Roy and Riza's faces._

"_So . . . she's not actually hurt?" Riza asked, her hand holding Roy's tightly._

"_No," the doctor said. "Adelaide is mute. Her voice-box hasn't formed properly, and she's unable to make a sound like a normal child would."_

_Roy's eyes widened, and Riza seemed taken aback. Both of them were shocked. They hadn't expected something like this, and Roy couldn't decide whether it was good news or bad news. Good for now – their daughter wasn't going to die._

"_What's this going to mean, then?" Riza asked._

"_She won't be able to speak, but she will be able to hear other people talking. It would be a good idea for you to start to learn sign-language, and when she's old enough, enrol her in a special school that will take care of her needs. Still speak to her, because while she's still a baby she's more likely to notice words than the fact that your hands are shaped a particular way, but when she's a little older and starting to learn what things are, teach her how to make some of the signs as well."_

"_She'll still learn as fast as other children?"_

"_Mmm . . . yes, but it might take a little while for her to be able to get the hang of sign-language. It should be as easy for her to pick up as a verbal language, but if she takes a while at first, I wouldn't worry too much. She'll still physically learn at the normal rate – learning how to walk, ride a bike, et cetera – but just keep in mind that you'll have to be able to see her to know whether or not she's trying to speak to you."_

_They nodded earnestly. It was going to be a bit different than they had expected, but they would be able to work through it._

"_One thing that might be a problem while she's still young is her crying," the doctor added. "You know now what that sound is, and it will mean just the same things as any other baby crying – she needs to be fed, changed, burped or just held – but it won't be as loud as a baby's cry usually is, so even at night time you'll have to make sure that one of you is ready to take care of her. Whether that means staying awake all night, or having regular intervals to wake up and check to see she's alright is completely up to you."_

* * *

Sciezska's face popped around the corner of the office, and she looked around to make sure that Riza was there before she walked in. "Riza, Mr. Greed asked me to send you to his office."

A little uneasy, Riza frowned. Now he was trying to talk to her at work, too? She wondered whether it was just her that he always spoke to – if he was like this with everyone else it might not seem half as creepy. "Do you speak with him often?"

Sciezska seemed to think about it. "Well, he always speaks with me, really. I reply, of course, but he's the one who starts the conversations – really friendly guy. It's easier to get on with him than with either of the Mr. Penns this way."

The reply mollified her a little. Maybe this guy was just overly sociable with everyone. It wasn't that he particularly flirted with her, really, just that he had a tendency to overstep the usual bounds of personal space, even with people he didn't know well. Such as strangers at a soccer match.

"Yes, he is a little bit . . . friendly, isn't he?" Riza mumbled, getting up. "Where is his office?"

"You don't know?" Sciezska asked, surprised, before frowning and thinking to herself. "If you go up two floors, then into the corridor on the left side of the room and follow it, his office should be the . . . the _fifth_ door on your right."

Riza nodded and said her thanks before moving to leave the room. When she arrived at Emlyn Greed's office, all he did was hand a new project to her to work on, and then said "I'll see you at lunchtime, then," with his self-assured smile.

She didn't know what to think.

* * *

"_Roy, are you awake . . ? Roy? Roy."_

_Her hand landed lightly on his back, and he turned his head towards her, eyes still closed. ". . . Mmm?"_

"_I . . . I'm sorry."_

_One eye opened slightly, and through the dark he could see her resting on one elbow, brow furrowed. He scuffled round onto his back and tilted his head a little so he could watch her. She still seemed to be thinking, so luckily she didn't notice the few seconds it took him to actually look at her face, instead of that peek of cleavage showing above her nightie._

"_Sorry about what, honey?" This might take a while._

_The furrowing deepened. "I didn't mean to yell at you today."_

_A smile of relief crossed his face. "Ohh, honey," he said sleepily, opening his arms, "come here."_

_Her lips twitched the smallest degree upwards, but she still looked worried as she crawled to his side and lay down with her head on his shoulder, and her arm draped across his chest. "I was just worried about Addy."_

"_I know," he murmured, stroking her hair. If he was lucky, that would be all he had to say tonight – he was still half asleep and didn't think he'd be able to process larger sentences. It wasn't that he didn't care, just that he almost didn't trust himself to say anything longer._

"_Nothing happened, so I shouldn't have shouted at you, but I thought you wouldn't have been able to hear her from where you were." That had been proved wrong when Addy began to make her 'crying' sound in the middle of the argument, and he had been able to hear her even through their dispute and went to her. Otherwise, it would have been him who had to apologise._

"_It's alright. You were just trying to make sure that she was safe."_

"_I know, but I shouldn't have yelled at you."_

"_Ri, honey, look at me." She shifted a little so that her wide eyes could see his own, and sniffled. He smiled at her. "You're a wonderful mother, who's scared for her daughter. Maybe yelling was a bit much, but it's all okay now, and I don't mind. You know that I was being just as careful, but in a different way."_

_She nodded quietly, looking a little happier now, before wriggling a little higher and placing a warm kiss on his lips. "Thank you."_

_A sound escaped Roy's throat when she pulled away, and he reached over to pull her back across._

* * *

She fiddled with her pen distractedly before tuning into the instruction that Sciezska was giving her. That day's conversation at the bakery had confused her further, and it was making it harder for her to concentrate.

"Sciezska?"

The brunette blinked in surprise when she was interrupted, but glanced at Riza rather than continuing to explain the diagram. "Yeah?"

Riza frowned. It might not have been the best time for this, but she had to ask to get it off her mind. "Has Mr. Greed ever asked you to call him by his first name?"

Confused at the change in conversation, Sciezska nodded along thoughtfully. "Oh yes, but I don't think I could bring myself to do it," she confided, an apologetic expression spreading across her face. "He's a good guy, but he's not just one promotion away or something. He controls the whole place, you know. It would just be strange."

Was Riza just being paranoid, then? The man seemed to have a genuine interest in all of his employees, not just her. Maybe it would be best if she stopped thinking about it all, but whenever she saw him a new question would arise. She'd just have to stop making it all an issue. He was her _boss_ after all. It was his choice as to how he wanted to run the company.

* * *

_With the stealth only a father walking past the room of a sleeping child could have, he crept up behind Riza, putting his arms around her. He laughed when she jumped, and again when she swatted him away because he was making her feel hot._

"_What's got you so happy?" she asked, raising an eyebrow in his direction. She had never been overly fond of the heat, and this summer wasn't agreeing with her, especially since her final exams were coming up._

_He pulled two theatre tickets from his pocket, smoothing them over despite the fact that they hadn't received so much as a single crease yet. "These," he revealed, pride tugging at the corners of his lips._

_A look at the tickets confused her. "But Roy – these are for tomorrow . . ."_

"_Yeah, I was planning on surprising you and giving them to you then, but I realised you wouldn't be too impressed with having to put together an outfit in half an hour."_

_She caught his gaze, one hand on his cheek so that he'd look directly at her. "Roy, we have a daughter. Do you suppose that she'll take care of herself if we just go?"_

_That was a silly question. Would he be much of a father if he didn't take care of his daughter? "Nope, that's why I asked Maes to come and mind her for us. He and Gracia have been thinking about children, so this will be a little trial for them." His eyes gleamed – he'd prepared everything early just so that this could be perfect._

_Riza still sounded worried. "But she's not just any baby – she's __**mine**__. And what if they don't hear her crying?"_

"_Relax," he murmured, taking a hold of her hands. "Maes has been around Addy when she's crying before – he knows what it's like. They know what to expect, and they understand all her basic needs. Riza . . . tomorrow's our night. Without kids, you know?"_

_She still seemed a little nervous about the idea._

"_Riza, it's __**Maes**__. He's great with kids."_

_Her eyes couldn't decide on whether they wanted to be observing him or the carpet, and she kept changing between the two. "Then, you promise that nothing will go wrong?"_

_Sighing, he gave her a level look. "I can't promise nothing will go wrong, but I can assure you that I've taken precautions to minimise potential problems."_

_No, her eyes were fixed on the carpet, and he was starting to reconsider the theatre. If it was going to be this big of a fuss, then maybe it was too early for them to leave Addy with a minder – even if it was Maes._

_But she finally nodded. "Alright, then. We haven't been out in ages."_

"_Mm, I know," he agreed with relief, entwining his fingers through hers. "And may I just say in advance – happy second anniversary, Mrs. Mustang."_

_Lighting up a very little, she smiled and gave a throaty laugh. "Happy early anniversary, Roy."_

* * *

"How's the family doing, Riza?"

She looked around – there he was again. "Oh, they're fine. And yours?"

At first he seemed a little surprised by the friendly behaviour, but then he nodded along. "Yes, they're fine. One of my brothers just managed to get his hands on a big name food brand. More success to share around, really."

"That's good to hear," she said, and turned back to the front of the bakery.

* * *

_Watching Addy these days was hard, emotionally. After receiving some lessons from a recommended tutor, Roy and Riza were now starting to teach their daughter sign-language, bit by bit. The problem was that at this age, Addy didn't know why she couldn't make the sounds her parents did, and still made odd breathy noises as she communicated, in an almost instinctive use of her mouth._

_Now that she knew a few words she was able to clumsily make the shapes for 'food', 'drink', 'toilet', 'cot' and 'book' – those being the few in which she had interest enough to learn quickly – and was starting on some others to make proper sentences with, as well as more names._

_Roy didn't know which was harder – teaching a two-year-old the signs, or convincing her to continue paying attention._

* * *

It was a lot easier to bear when she simply decided it wasn't worth worrying about. He made his way into the store. "Look who's here," was the greeting, delivered with a grin.

"Oh – hello."

* * *

_They'd done it. Those story-hungry fools. They'd pounced on this one as soon as it happened, and gotten it all wrong. The headline that weekend announced "Mustang's deaf daughter there to cheer him on" and there was a blown up image of Riza with the three-year-old Addy on her lap, watching the game._

_It was the first time they had brought Addy with them, knowing that there was a possibility of the media grabbing at it – which they had, quickly muddling the facts. For one, Addy was mute, not deaf – meaning she also wasn't physically able to "cheer him on" as they had suggested. Then, her name was Adelaide, not "Ada"._

_He snorted and threw down the paper. At least it wasn't anything damaging. All generally 'happy' news rather than using it to blacken his name, although he didn't know how they might be able to use Addy to make him seem bad. Glancing at the paper as he walked away, he became uneasy – the media all too easily turned on a person. He hoped they would leave Addy alone after this._

* * *

It was almost a regular meeting now. Emlyn wasn't that bad, once she actually spoke to him, and as a boss he was easy to get along with.

"You again?" He grinned.

She raised an amused eyebrow. "Seems like it . . . How has the workday been treating you?"

* * *

_Her hands were becoming quicker now, and a little closer to the shapes. All the same, his answer was hesitant. "Maybe we can blow the candles out together, Addy – I don't think you can get twenty-seven of them on your own."_

_Nonetheless, the girl nodded her dark-haired head eagerly, and climbed on top of her chair so that she could lean in towards the cake._

_On the other side of the table, Riza gave him a knowing smile – Addy had done the same thing at her twenty-fourth only a few months ago, and seemed to be trying to perfect her technique in order to manage all five candles on her next cake._

* * *

She raised an eyebrow. "You're early today." He was already there at the bakery when she arrived. It gave a slight change of pace.

He nodded, seeming a little preoccupied. "I have a meeting with one of the companies we get our construction materials from this afternoon, so I'm having my break a little earlier. Over the next few weeks we're going to be trying to sort out some kind of new deal with them."

* * *

_He closed the front door behind them, and tossed the keys onto the nearby table, rushing to keep up with her. "Riza, just because they were looking at me doesn't mean that I was looking at them!"_

_She stopped to turn around and stare at him angrily. The hands settling themselves firmly on her hips were not a good sign. "And I'm sure that you were just smirking at some funny thought you had, then?"_

_Smirking? Now that seemed a little harsh – he didn't really smirk, did he? "It isn't possible that I was just having fun, then?" It had been a sunny day at the beach, and he thought that fun wasn't entirely out of the question._

_Riza appeared to feel otherwise about such things. "Roy, you were sunbaking. Sunbaking can be many things – relaxing, comforting, sleep-inducing, restful – but I don't see what's particularly fun enough about it to make you smile–"_

"_But–"_

"–_And I don't see how your 'not looking at them' includes the fact that you watched them halfway down the beach before you stopped."_

_Now that may have sounded bad. In fact, as she said it, he realised that maybe it hadn't been the best of choices, but he did have an excuse. Really. On the inside he was panicking. "Honey," he said pleadingly, putting his arms around her waist. She took her hands off her hips and folded them underneath her breasts. If he hadn't been so busy trying to get back into her good graces, he might have paid a little more attention to that action. "I would never look at someone else the same way that I look at you."_

_Her eyebrows rose a very little, making her frown slightly less harsh, and her eyes softened. Unfortunately, just a bit too much._

"_Roy," she breathed, her shattered expression making his heart twinge. "I don't even know how you look at me anymore." Her eyes flickered to his left, looking at something behind him, and with one last glance at his face, she pushed away. "Come on, Addy – let's get all of that sand off you."_

_He turned around, horrified to see the six-year-old there, looking confused as Riza led her away towards one of the downstairs bathrooms. Had she been there the whole time, listening? What had Addy heard of their argument?_

_Why had those stupid girls had to walk past?_

_He was such an idiot._

* * *

"Riza!" Emlyn called out to her when she entered the shop. "I've just landed a deal with the cement suppliers that will save us hundreds of thousands each year – come have a coffee with me to celebrate!"

Eyes wide, she smiled. "Alright, then. Congratulations."


	18. In Which Wishing For One’s Wife To Be Fa

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy

**Notes:** Well people, here's chapter seventeen. In between the last chapter and this one I've been a very busy girl. I've done two exams (the first of which was easy, the second I have a sinking feeling that if I pass it will be barely scraping through . . . if I pass) and I've been looking at Youtube videos of the flooding. For anyone who's interested, you can go to the youtube search bar and just type in 'Newcastle flood' and there'll be a bit on it. There are a few good ones in there. As for this chapter, well . . . eh, just read it. This first argument was planned to occur at some point in time, and to have the result that it did since before I had even finished writing the third chapter. So . . . yeah. Read it!

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen: In Which Wishing For One's Wife To Be Fat Is Not A Wise Discussion Point**

It had been another terrible day. First of all, Edward hadn't even turned up to practice, which meant that he was getting overconfident and was more likely to let them down in the next game. Then, Roy's general performance had been lacking. It wasn't as bad as it had been in that stressful period earlier that season, but as a whole he wasn't able to do as well as he had been able to in past years. He was avoiding the thought that he was getting too old to play, because some of the other players were still a few years older than him and doing well. Maybe it was another issue of focus.

As a result of his poor performance, the first thing that Roy did when he got home from training was to head upstairs to the exercise rooms.

He paused just inside the doorway, ignoring the casual flick of the head Riza gave in his direction as she kept on jogging. Not knowing what to think, he walked in slowly and headed over to the weights.

It was confusing – she didn't seem to be really upset anymore, and yet she kept on exercising, almost as though she was training for something. He hadn't understood all of her mannerisms in the past two and a half years, but the one that he had been sure of was that any sort of prolonged physical activity meant that she was working off her anger in some way other than attacking the person she was annoyed at. She didn't look annoyed.

For a whole two minutes, as Roy stretched to warm up, he watched her out of the corner of his eye so that if it looked like danger, he could–

"_What_ is it, Roy?" She had stepped off the treadmill, and although there hadn't seemed to be any irritation before, it was there now and directed towards him.

He looked at her confusedly, still stretching his quadriceps and hamstrings alternatively. "What's what?"

"Why have you been watching me?"

Well, if that was her problem, then he'd just look somewhere else. "It's nothing."

"No, really, Roy. I want to know."

He shrugged, trying to avoid meeting her eyes as though that could prevent the argument from escalating. "I just thought you've been exercising a lot recently." He paused for a moment, and asked something that he hadn't had the guts to ask her seriously for a long time. "Is something wrong?"

There was a hesitation, and when he glanced over, he could see the confused frown on her face. "What do you mean 'Is something wrong?' Why would there be something wrong?"

This was why he hadn't wanted to get drawn into this – now she was just making a big deal out of his attempt to be kind. He stood up and shrugged. "You just always seem to be exercising when you're angry."

From across the room, he could feel her eyes giving him the once-over, and not in a good way. "Is there something wrong with that, then?" she asked expectantly.

All of a sudden he was of two minds; he could go one way and whinge about the fact that it made her harder to live with, or he could back down completely. He knew that he would have to put up with this for longer if he backed down, and he knew that whining about it would just provoke her to retaliate further.

Taking a breath, he decided to try the middle path. "You're just so skinny," he told her. That was a good way of putting it, wasn't it? He looked up reluctantly to see her reaction.

Apparently he could have worded that idea a little better. She blinked, gaping for a moment. "Oh, so now you'd prefer if I had some more flesh on my bones, then? After regulating meals to make sure that they weren't fatty and making it clear to me that muscle building was 'for the man of the house', you're complaining that I'm too _skinny_?" He could see her clenched teeth, even from where he stood. "What _do_ you want, Roy? Hmm?"

Somehow, she was able to take everything and make it look bad. He stood up, his shoulders hunched just enough to make him look uncertain about what he was going to say next.

"I . . ." It was strange how a flash of inspiration could be both a good and bad thing, because right then the concept of what he needed to say was strong in his mind, but instead of thinking it through, he just said the first thing that came to mind: "I just wish you were fat."

Riza looked at him in surprise, as though she didn't even know what to think, before wrenching the door open and sweeping out. The door slammed shut behind her with a rattle that shook the room.

Roy hit himself in the head with his fist. He should have thought that out more thoroughly first.

* * *

What on _earth_ had been going through his brain? She didn't know what to think about their latest 'conversation'. What did he mean when he said he wished she was fat? Did he mean that he just wanted her to put on some more weight, or to actually be _fat_?

She would just never be good enough for him, would she?

* * *

What on _earth_ had been going through his brain? What had possessed him to actually say that to her? His mind had been so messed up that when the idea occurred to him that he had just blurted it out. He knew what he meant, but didn't realise early enough that she wouldn't.

The fact was that in his mind, when she was angry she exercised, and when anyone exercised they lost weight. So approaching from the opposite direction, a skinny Riza was an angry Riza, whereas a fat Riza – or perhaps just fatt_er_ (although if he had said that, she could have thought he was saying she already was fat, which he didn't mean) – wasn't angry. So in effect, what he had meant was that he wished she was happy. He had meant well, just in a less articulate way than he could have attempted.

Now, lying awake on the couch (it had been a mix of deciding to take the safer option, and finding his pillows thrown out of the room once again, this time half way down the hall), he could think of so many better ways he could have worded it.

"I wish you didn't feel the need to constantly exercise."

Or "I wish you" – 'we' would have worked better still – "could work out your problems another way."

Or even "I wish you weren't so angry," although that may have just made her even more annoyed at him.

But "I wish you were fat"? What sort of a man told a woman that?

* * *

Even recently, she hadn't been fond of talking to Emlyn about the problems in her marriage, but when she arrived at the coffee shop they now frequented, looking as though she was about to strangle someone or something, he asked, and she couldn't help but tell him – it just all poured out.

Luckily for her, Emlyn was a very good listener, and he sipped at his latte, watching her carefully as she explained the argument, reacting in all the right places, and finally "He said _what_?"

She held her hands out. "I don't understand it either. You're a man; what am I supposed to think if he tells me things like that?"

Emlyn shook his head adamantly. "I have no idea why he would say something like that. It all sounds crazy to me. Almost as though he's purposefully misunderstanding you." He took another sip from the mug, one eyebrow raised conspiringly.

She idly traced around the lip of her own mug with a finger, her frown deepening. "I wouldn't usually believe something like that, but he used to be able to identify with me so well that his not understanding now is like he's just stopped trying."

When she looked up Emlyn was grimacing at her. Her eyes dropped back to her mug. "I don't remember the last time we spoke to each other politely," she commented wistfully. "About anything other than Addy, that is. When she's not around . . . it's just easiest to ignore him, because otherwise he'll be stewing over the results of the last game and bite my head off, or say something stupid like 'I just wish you were fat.'"

"Riza . . ."

It was true. She didn't remember the last time she had received – or given, for that matter – so much as a 'please' or a 'thank you' to the man that she had _married_. Their conversation was limited to what was said at the dinner table and to reminding the other of the points they were lacking in.

Roy seemed to think that she was predictable, with his mentioning that whenever she was angry she exercised, but didn't seem to notice that his reactions upon coming home from his training and games were not the most subtly hidden emotions either. If he was annoyed with how he went, he'd storm through the house until he cheered up somehow. And he thought that she was predictable.

As she and Emlyn finished up and paid their bills, he turned to her. "I know that . . . as a male friend, it's a little forward of me to invite you to stay at my apartment, even if these problems are as bad as they sound, but maybe we could go out and have dinner somewhere tonight. Just so that you don't have to put up with that behaviour for a few hours."

She was surprised – she hadn't been out anywhere with a friend in quite some time. If it was just dinner, then maybe it would do her some good. It could give her some time to think about this properly, and away from the problem himself. Who knows – maybe she'd actually enjoy herself for once in a while.

"Dinner would be nice," she said quietly, nodding along. "Thank you, Emlyn." She gave him a small smile, which he returned, flicking his round glasses down from his hair and back onto his nose.


	19. In Which Anger Is Not A Good Discussion

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy

**Notes:** For some reason FFN isn't allowing me to answer the last three reviews I got, so I'll answer those at the bottom of the chapter :) Ahh, poor Roy. If only he'd learn how to start a conversation properly he might actually be able to get somewhere. Also, if Riza wasn't so ready to take everything as offensive he might have a chance to explain himself. Both of them need a lesson in how to talk to their spouse. Oh, and while I remember - I only _just_ reached 200 reviews! Thank you to everyone for your support! Hugs and kisses to all lovely reviewers, and thank yous to all the readers :)

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen: In Which Anger Is Not A Good Discussion Point Either**

The incessant ticking of the clock seemed to be growing louder by the second. Somehow, the usually unobtrusive sound had managed to etch its way into Roy's head, unfortunately making the time passing seem slower than usual. Last night had been deathly silent, and he had resolved that today he would fix the argument they had the day before. Once he got home from practice he counted down the time until Riza arrived home. The hour he was sure he had been waiting for proved only to be ten minutes long, and each time he looked at the clock the intervals were getting smaller – his hours became eight minutes, five minutes, two minutes and one minute, respectively.

He didn't have to wait for Riza to come home – he knew she'd be back at home close to twenty past six – but he was too mentally preoccupied to do anything but wait. In an attempt to pass the time he convinced Addy that he'd help her with her homework if she did it now, but found himself staring at the subtractions on the page rather than helping. Soon enough, she gave him a push that startled him out of his stupor and he looked at her dully and apologised. A little sharper than usual, she told him to concentrate and pointed out the question again.

Focussing in itself was hard enough, let alone guiding his daughter through the process as well. He ended up apologising again, and said that maybe it was better to try another time. Her frustrated exhalation reminded him so much of Riza that the thought occurred to him that maybe Addy would become just as difficult to talk with some time in the future.

"I just can't think right now, honey," he explained.

Addy stood and watched him for a moment before reluctantly making the signs to ask him if he was alright. He laughed grimly – she was oddly perceptive for an eight-year-old.

Brushing a hand through his hair, he tried to brighten up his smile a little bit, so as not to cause her any alarm. After a moment, he replied in sign-language, telling her not to worry, but that he and Mummy had had a little fight the day before.

It was surprising just how much her face crumpled at that point. She looked at the floor, effectively stopping herself from being able to see anything else he might choose to say. Her hands moved to make one sign: '_Again_'.

They had argued in front of Addy too many times to pretend that she didn't know something was wrong, but it was still a shock to see her looking so forlorn. Roy crouched down in front of her, and started making signs, but she turned away and ignored him.

He put his arms around the little girl, trying not to notice the watery eyes. "Addy . . . We still love you." She sniffed, and he hugged her closer. "It's just hard to talk to each other sometimes. We still love you . . ."

Wriggling out of his grip so she could speak, Addy's hands moved again: '_But do you love Mummy?_'

To be truthful, his first thought was 'no'. But if he didn't love her, then why would he still put up with the arguments, and the cold shoulder, and why would he want to fix what he'd said to her? If he didn't love her, then why did he want her to be happy? All he wanted was for them to be able to live together without fighting all of the time. The thought occurred to him that possibly hurting Addy wasn't the only reason why he didn't want to get a divorce.

"Yes," he finally said, a little confused even at himself.

And once more: '_Then why don't you say it? Maybe Mummy won't be so scary if you tell her you still love her._'

Sometimes the simplest ideas just seemed the key to everything. Why hadn't he said it? Because he had been afraid that Riza would bite his head off – that's why. He had still tried telling her he loved her after the affair. For weeks, he still tried to reaffirm it, but she had been so miserable then, and it hadn't worked, so he just stopped trying . . . to the point where he questioned whether he did love her or not.

He smiled wistfully. "Maybe I'll try it some time, honey. After we've sorted out this last argument."

Addy frowned at him before turning away dejectedly and picking up her pencil. With a sigh, Roy trailed his hand through her hair once and left her room.

Towards the other end of the hallway, he noticed that the door to his and Riza's room was shut. Did that mean that Riza had come home while he was with Addy?

Warily, he knocked three times before opening the door a little and stepping in. Riza's briefcase was on her side of the bed, and the bathroom door was closed as well. He could hear water running – she must have come home and gone straight into the shower. Rather than interrupt her when she would least appreciate it, he picked up one of his health magazines and sat on the edge of the bed to wait.

After flicking through the whole thing twice, the water shut off, and Roy was looking at an article about healthy substitutes for meat when the bathroom door opened and she stepped out. He quickly put the magazine to the side and stood up.

Dressed only in her underwear, Riza did not appear particularly pleased to see him. She glared in his direction for a moment before opening her closet and walking in to find something to wear. He followed her.

"Riza, I've been meaning to–"

"I don't want to hear it, Roy." She paused, watching him again, with one hand sitting on top of a coat hanger.

He spoke again as she began to flick through outfits. "But I didn't _mean _that I wish you were fat."

"I should hope not." This time she didn't stop, but pulled a dress from the rack, and unzipped it before wriggling into it and adjusting it properly over her shoulders and slim hips. He looked at it in surprise. He hadn't known she had dresses still. "I don't know what you meant to say, but obviously you aren't going to be happy with whatever I'm doing." She pulled the zip up with a decided yank.

"It isn't about whether I'm happy," he said, watching her select a pair of shoes and a handbag. "It's about– Wait, are we going somewhere?"

She walked past him, back out into the bedroom. "I'm going out for dinner with a friend."

"Oh." So she was going out again – leaving even less time for him to try and sort this out. "When are you leaving?"

She cast a glance towards the clock on the bedside table. "Not for another half hour yet," she told him casually, replacing her earring studs with some other pair – Roy wasn't really paying attention to the sort of earrings she was wearing.

"Oh, okay."

"I'm going to go see Addy – we can talk about this at another time."

Roy was left standing alone in the room, confusion printed all over his face as she turned and sauntered out, leaving the door open behind her.

* * *

What had he been trying to say? Somehow it came out sounding as though he was both trying to push his point further, and apologise at the same time. How he managed that, she didn't know, but why couldn't he just back down? He always had to make it seem as though it was her fault, and he hadn't done anything wrong in the first place –as though she had wilfully misunderstood him.

She took a deep breath to calm herself before walking into Addy's room. The girl was hunched over on her bed, scribbling away in a book, and didn't look up as Riza came in. When she was right by the bed, she could see it was the maths book her class had been given, and Addy was violently colouring in the little number monsters down the side of the page.

Riza sat down on the bed, putting her arm around her daughter. "Whatcha doing, Addy?"

Addy paused her scribbling for a minute to sign 'colouring' and returned to her activity, ignoring the fact that her lead pencil desperately needed sharpening.

Wincing at the multitude of pointed lines all over the page, she put a hand on the girl's arm. "It might be a little neater if you don't push as hard," she encouraged gently.

Only a moment later, she jerked away as Addy threw the pencil at the wall on the other side of her room angrily. The small length of wood clattered to the floor loudly, finally rolling to a halt against the side of the bookcase.

"Addy," Riza said stiffly, her voice set at a warning tone. "Go and pick that up, then come back here and tell me what's wrong."

The girl clenched her fists stubbornly, not looking up.

Since when had she become this bad? Addy had always had her moments when tantrums seemed imminent, but she had never thrown something before. Riza had _not_ raised her daughter to act like this, had she?

"Addy . . ."

There was a moment's hesitation in which Riza was readying herself to have to discipline the girl before Addy reluctantly stood and plodded over to pick up the pencil, only to slam it down on her desk and flop onto her bed, face down and with her hands to her ears.

Riza sighed. Another problem to add to an already stressful week. Thank goodness she wasn't going to be there for dinner.

* * *

For half an hour, Roy tried to figure out what he was going to say when Riza was done talking with Addy. He couldn't very well take the conversation in there – he was quite aware of that – but she had left her bag in the bedroom, which meant she must have been coming back for it at some point.

So he had thought over every little nook and cranny, and had had the conversation in his head with an imaginary Riza. Unfortunately that didn't originally turn out to his favour, but he had tried again and again until she had understood, and so long as he remembered how he had brought her around in his mind, that might work in real life as well.

He heard heeled footsteps coming along the hallway, and since he didn't think Addy had progressed past a flat heel yet, that must have been Riza.

She walked in, giving him no more than a glance before heading back into the bathroom to arrange her hair. In what seemed almost like a replay of earlier events, he followed her in.

First things first, he needed to apologise. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry for what I said."

She looked at him as though he had sprouted a second head, and walked past to collect her handbag. "And why would that be?" she asked stiffly. A rummage around inside must have revealed that she had all she needed, because she began to walk out of the room. Roy jogged over to keep up.

"Because it was stupid. I don't wish you were fat – I didn't mean it the way it came out," he revealed as they went down the stairs.

"Really? So what _did_ you mean, then?" The sarcasm in her voice was hard to miss, and even from just beside her, Roy could see her eyes flashing dangerously.

Unfortunately, although he could clearly see that she was getting annoyed at him, he continued on just as he had in the conversation in his head. "It's just that you're always angry."

The Riza in his head that he had been practicing with earlier obviously was not the same as the real Riza. While in his imagination, he had been able to continue on and explain himself, the real Riza took that opportunity to stop in the middle of the hallway they had reached, and to turn around and look at him, effectively making him shut his mouth before he dug himself any deeper.

"Always angry, am I?" she mused, eyes narrowed dangerously. "Well maybe there's a reason for that, _Roy_." With one last disgusted look, she spun around and prowled out through the front door, heels clicking on the wooden floor.

* * *

_**winglessfairy25** - Yeah, Roy's taken it a bit far. I don't think it's all that realistic an argument (at least I don't know anyone who would say that . . .) but it just seemed to fit._

_**Breion** - Of course I like picking on Roy! I always pick on my favourite characters in stories. I still remember a story where my favourite character got pushed off a roof, and broke both of his legs and one arm. Or maybe it was just both of his legs. Anyway, I was cackling all through writing it because I found it so hilarious. Yeah, I have sort of mucked around with Emlyn a bit. You are getting pretty close there, though. Don't dwell on it too much or it will spoil the story :P_

_**SakuraTearDrop** - Thank you! There are only a handful of chapters left, but I assure you that they will be up in due time!_


	20. In Which Events Do Not Go As Planned

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy

**Notes: **Well, this is another longer chapter. I couldn't cut it into sections - I really couldn't. I wouldn't be able to do that to you all. It's a mix of a few things, but especially Riza's dinner with Emlyn. For the most part, the dinner is less about actions taken and more about the conversation and what you can take out of that. I believe that Emlyn's apartment says a fair bit about him as a person, especially Riza's thoughts on it. Erm, I think that might be all for the author's notes. Quickly, before this chapter starts, I have one more thing to say, and please pay attention:

**Warning: This chapter contains material that might be disturbing to some readers. If you wish to skip ahead rather than reading, I have placed the usual 'view change' marker at the point you may wish to leave, and I will give a summarised version of events at the beginning of the next chapter.**

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen: In Which Events Do Not Go As Planned**

Fuming too much to remember that she had booked a taxi to come and pick her up, Riza had been about to get into her car when the cab pulled up to the curb - what perfect timing - and she walked over to get in.

So . . . _Angry_, now, was she? And why would that be, then? It couldn't _possibly_ be the fault of a particular black-haired soccer player. No, it must have been her own nature that made her get irritated so easily. In fact she _loved_ being angry all of the time.

What an idiot.

The thing that puzzled her was how he had managed to make the connection between being angry and being fat. Was she supposed to believe that his 'wishing' she was fat was because he thought it would stop her from being angry at him? Perhaps he'd come to the conclusion that fat people were jolly, and as such, someone with a 'skinnier' frame must be upset. She snorted. It made sense – he was always sulking over his own failures. Maybe Roy needed to put on some weight himself.

She wriggled in her seat, adjusting her dress and trying to ignore the fact that even though she hadn't worn it for years, it was a size or two too big, rather than too small. Since when had she been 'skinny'? He made it sound so . . . so unhealthy. He could have chosen any other word meaning the same thing, but with a better twist to it – slim, slender, trim, or even _thin_ – but he had to make her sound like some teenager with anorexia. Why not just call her bony and start counting her ribs? For her part, she didn't believe she had reached that stage yet, but she reflected wryly that if she was anorexic, she certainly wouldn't be the one to diagnose herself.

Angry. _Huh_. He was one to talk.

The streets seemed to meld into each other until finally the taxi pulled up in front of the address Emlyn had given to Riza.

"It's just this one here, love," the taxi driver said when she'd stepped out, looking at the building curiously.

She nodded and turned back to pay the man before walking up to the front of the apartment building and pressing the intercom button for the penthouse apartment. Emlyn had told her it was a large apartment complex – and of course he had the best room in the building – but he hadn't seemed to give it justice. The building looked as though it stretched to twice the size of her own house along its front side, and went maybe half of that distance back. This wasn't just any block of apartments – this was a luxury apartment complex, and if what Emlyn had said was right, one of his brothers had played some part in building it.

A moment later his voice buzzed over the intercom and Riza let him know it was her. He laughed and told her he still needed to iron his shirt, and if she'd come up he'd only be a minute. There was a click, and she opened the front door while it was still unlocked.

The elevator ride up to the top wasn't particularly slow, but it took long enough that Riza began to feel worried it wasn't working properly, and the idea that the elevator was about to drop down the shaft occurred to her. To her relief, the doors opened soon enough with a light 'ding', and she walked out onto the more stable floor.

In the hallway there was a choice of two doors – 20A and 20B. She smirked when she remembered Emlyn pointing out that although there were two 'penthouses', one was slightly bigger than the other. It didn't take two guesses to realise he had the bigger one. She knocked on the door of '20A'.

A few beats later the door was flung open and Emlyn, in his trousers and undershirt, welcomed her in. He stood to the side to allow her to pass by before closing the door and heading through a hallway into a living room, where he told her to take a seat and walked out to the adjoining room.

As she waited, Riza looked around the room. It was a mix of whites and rich colours: perfectly white walls, a blue and green abstract painting, some yellow daffodils that looked a little too large to be real, a rich red lounge, a maroon rug, two similarly red chairs – all bright and full colours.

She'd been sitting down for just long enough that she was tempted to walk over and have a look at those daffodils, in order to discern whether or not they were real, when Emlyn came back into the room, now wearing a button up shirt and tying a black tie about his neck. She let out a deep breath that it felt as though she had been holding onto since she had left home.

He cocked his head to one side as he pulled the tie through the final loop and made his last adjustments to it. "Don't tell me that he started up again when you got home," he tried warily.

Raising her eyebrows, Riza considered leaving him to figure it out himself. "_I didn't mean that I wished you were fat, Riza – I just meant that you're always angry,_" she mocked.

Emlyn gave a satisfactory intake of breath, and his face contorted into a wince, straightening out when his eyes caught onto the clock behind Riza. "We'd better get going if we want to make it on time – I managed to get some reservations. We can talk in the car," he added.

She nodded and stood up, clutching at her bag. Why couldn't Roy ever just say something nice?

The car trip was releasing. She ended up spilling her whole thought process to Emlyn, who laughed at the idea that maybe Roy needed to gain some fat if he thought that would make him happy.

"Maybe it's time for the 'great' Roy Mustang to retire and take a more settled role," he mused, as he spun the steering-wheel to escape a roundabout.

It was an effort not to laugh at the very idea. "Oh, he'd love that," she noted sarcastically. "Soccer is all he lives for these days. If it isn't reading up on new techniques, then he's training so he can stay at the top of his game – or arguing with me."

"It might do him some good to be forced to have a break," Emlyn said suddenly. "That way, there's only so much 'studying up' he can have before he'll run out of things to do, and he might be forced to move on to something more constructive. Taking up a hobby, or collecting something, even."

Leaning one elbow on the car door, she looked over at him in amusement. "What, like your family's little collection of businesses?"

He grinned. "Or something along the lines of that. It all depends on how much he's willing to invest."

She sighed and gazed out into the night lights of the city. "A soccer club – that's the first thing he'd buy."

"Ahh, again with the soccer–"

"I can't imagine him doing anything else," she insisted. It was hard to see the hero of the soccer field ever enveloping himself so thoroughly in any other regular activity, even for her. "It would be a soccer club, or buying a _team_. Or maybe once he's finished playing, he'll go into commentating. Whatever he does, it will have to be to do with that sport."

Sorely tempted to sit and play with the strap of her handbag, instead she gripped her hands about it tightly. Her eyes drifted out of focus on the dashboard of the car, and the purring of the engine seemed dulled.

Emlyn cast a look in her direction. "A little jealous, are we?"

Surprised, she tried to blink her confusion away. "No," she said hurriedly, trailing off when she didn't know how to continue. ". . . It's just . . . It would be nice if he could . . . pay me a little more attention some times."

There was a contented silence and Riza felt as though she might just have unwittingly affirmed Emlyn's last statement.

Finally, as they pulled into a car-park and turned into the closest possible parking spot, Emlyn turned the engine off, but didn't move. He just turned to Riza. "So he's not such the bastard husband, after all, then?"

She frowned and unclipped her seatbelt. "He didn't used to be – he is now." Climbing out of the car, she closed the door with a resolute 'thump' and waited with her arms crossed beneath her breasts for Emlyn to get out.

The restaurant itself was a lovely little Indian place with a hanging ceiling, and splashes of purple, pink and orange around the room. They didn't talk about Riza's personal issues while they were there – they didn't want to create a scene – but once they'd eaten and were sitting around picking at what was left, Emlyn looked up at her a little hesitantly.

"So . . . What do you think you'd be doing now if you were at home tonight?"

Riza stirred around the aloo mater on her plate. "By now I'd have strangled him." There was no need to specify who the man she was talking about was. "Or just given up and gone to bed."

"Is that what most nights are like?" he asked curiously.

Pausing for a moment, she considered. "Not always, but it has been that way more frequently recently."

When they paid their bills and got back into the car she sighed, sinking down into the seat. There was so much just to think about. Now that she'd been able to remove herself from the issue itself, it seemed almost as though it had happened to someone else. Sure, the arguments of the day before and that afternoon still rang clear enough that they made her blood boil, but now she believed that she was calm enough to not do Roy any physical harm when she got home. Provided that he didn't try to start something again.

Emlyn's fingers tapped on the steering-wheel as they waited for a red light to turn green. Riza watched him tap out a beat to the music on the radio, which was turned down very low. Rather abruptly, he spoke.

"You've said once or twice that Roy's controlling. How is that?"

She'd been over this many a time recently. It wasn't hard to bring the list to her mind again as the light turned green and the car began to move again. "Well, for example, he thinks that there should be a set time for meals. I know that it's healthy to have meals such and such an amount of time before you go to bed, but when Roy can't have lunch or dinner at his prescribed times, he begins to get stroppy." He did behave very much like a horse, then. He began to get fidgety and seemed nervous when his routines were broken.

"And of course he expects that Addy and I will abide by these guidelines as well," she continued. "Addy doesn't seem to have any problem with it, but it's just another small annoyance that contributes to a long list of issues."

Emlyn nodded. "There are other things too, then, I take it?"

"Oh, of course," she scoffed. "He doesn't just control when I eat, but then there's what I eat, how much of it, and what time of the day I eat that particular thing – no carbohydrates at night, because that's _long_ lasting energy, which is better for us in the _morning_. And after food, there's also how I dress, and the types of exercise I'm allowed to do–"

"He doesn't let you do some exercises?"

"Nope. Wouldn't want me to build unnecessary muscles, would he now?"

Without realising, Riza had gone from being relatively complacent about her troubles with Roy to just being annoyed at him again.

Putting the pieces together, Emlyn's eyes were now narrowed, but still directed towards the road. "And so he doesn't let you do exercises that would build your body weight, he doesn't let you eat foods that will convert into unnecessary fat cells, yet he _wants_ you to be fat. He controls all of this that you do, and complains that you're always angry?"

Nodding along, Riza clicked her tongue irritably. When she saw that they were nearing Emlyn's apartment complex, she began rummaging around in her handbag for her mobile phone so that she could call a taxi to come and get her. Apparently she had one missed call – from home – and a voicemail message. Considering that Addy couldn't talk, it wasn't hard to guess who it was from. Nevertheless, she planned on listening to it just as soon as they had walked out of the underground parking lot beneath Emlyn's building, so that her reception didn't drop out on her.

He swooped effortlessly into his reserved parking spot, and asked if something was wrong when she got straight out of the car and headed for the outside of the building.

"Voicemail message," she called back shortly. "I'm just going to get reception."

He nodded, and as she kept walking she head the beep of his central locking. A little while later he reached the street, just after she did, and waited a little distance off so as not to intrude.

Having listened through the automated message telling her the time and date the person called, Roy's recorded voice came through the speaker.

"Riza, about what I said earlier – I didn't mean it the way it sounded. I didn't think before I spoke and didn't realise that it would make you angry. I say things before thinking, and I really hope that you won't yell at m–" It cut off suddenly.

Annoyed and confused, she looked at the phone. The batteries had run out.

What the _hell_ was he thinking!? Now he was just repeating the same things as before, and even worse – now he seemed to be telling her that he thought she would direct her '_anger_' at him.

Emlyn took one look at her face and asked what Roy had said – there was no reason for him to believe someone else had caused that expression of disgust.

Amazed, Riza turned stiffly toward him. "_I didn't realise that it would make you angry, and I really hope that you won't yell at me_?" She glared at the phone, thrusting it back into her handbag violently to stop herself from throwing it as hard as she could onto the pavement and watching it fall apart.

Clenching her fists, she looked at Emlyn, who was watching her carefully. His face had all the appearance of being worried for her. "Hey," he said, "didn't you need to call a taxi to get home?"

She groaned. "Yes."

He shoved his hands into his pockets. "It's okay. You can use the phone in my apartment."

"Thank you."

They walked back into the building, Emlyn keeping a cautious eye on her the whole time, even as he pushed the button for the elevator. If she hadn't been so preoccupied by her irritation at Roy, she would have thought that maybe he was starting to think Roy had a point, and that she did always get angry.

_No_, she _didn't_ always get angry. It was just because of _Roy_.

And Sylvia.

Walking onto the elevator, she took a few deep breaths. If that woman hadn't happened, her life would have been so much simpler at that moment. She would have had a beautiful daughter and a loving husband, but no, he had to choose one fling with that _woman_ over her.

What had ever possessed him to make the decision? Why was it so appealing? Why on earth did he wish she was fat – and she was _not_ angry!

"Riza?"

"What?"

"This is my floor."

"Oh."

She followed Emlyn out of the elevator, and into his apartment once he had unlocked the door.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Now, I'm no expert, but I'd say that you are annoyed at something, and since that's most likely your husband right now, it might be better to cool off before you go home."

Without realising it, Riza had instantly started pacing around Emlyn's living room, walking back and forth over the little yellow rug. "You're right." She stopped, and tried to calm herself down. "You're right – I can't go home to Addy still like this." She sat down on the lounge and crossed her legs, forcing herself to be still.

"Would you like a cup of coffee before you call the taxi, then?" he asked. "That way you have a while longer to compose yourself."

"That might be a good idea," she mumbled, loud enough that he could hear her response. "A little time to blow off some steam before I go home."

Emlyn disappeared into the kitchen and she began tapping her fingers on her leg. It could have been easier if she had some mode of stress relief, but she couldn't just ask Emlyn if he had any gym equipment she could use – not to mention that it wouldn't be decent to use it in this dress – and it would have been rude if she began breaking his ornaments around the room. So she tried to constrain her irritation.

When he finally returned with two cups of coffee, it took a great act of willpower to unclench her jaw and accept the cup he offered as he sat down beside her. She forced herself to take a sip from it.

"Riza . . ." He shook his head sadly. "Why are you still married to him if this is how he intends to treat you?"

She set the cup down on the coffee-table. "The media."

"Hmm?" He frowned in his confusion.

"The media will create too big a fuss of it if we get a divorce," she sneered distastefully. Just the thought of those vultures waiting for the next story was enough to remind her that she could be happily away from Roy if she wanted to be, and more than likely he would finally be able to be happy then, too. "We decided to stay together for Addy's sake."

Scowling, Emlyn put his cup down and rubbed at his eyes. "He's ungrateful," he spat. "There's so much in his life, and he seems to disregard it all for the sake of himself."

Riza nodded in agreement.

"He doesn't deserve you."

She almost laughed. "What – an angry, skinny woman? Oh he deserves 'me' just fine."

"No," Emlyn reaffirmed, now with a hand underneath her chin to make her look towards him. He was closer than he had been when he first sat down. "He doesn't deserve you."

* * *

She looked at him, wide-eyed, suddenly noticing just how serious he was. It was exhilarating and frightening all at the same time.

Riza's eyelids flickered shut as Emlyn's lips met her own, at first softly – tentatively – and then, as she began to respond in turn, harder. The hand that had been under her chin had moved around to the back of her neck, his thumb brushing at her earlobe, and his other hand had made its way to her waist.

She couldn't remember the last time that Roy had kissed her like this. It all seemed like a distant memory. Maybe she and Roy had never kissed like this. She pushed harder, letting her own arms drift up to Emlyn's face as his tongue slipped into her mouth.

The hand on her waist had curled around to her back, and it took a moment to realise that he was unzipping her dress, and his other hand had disappeared. She opened her eyes in time to see him fiddling with his belt buckle.

With a sudden jolt she realised what she was doing.

"Wait . . . Emlyn . . ." She tried to speak, but he kept kissing her. "Em- Emlyn, I don't think . . . that this is a . . . good idea."

In a moment the trousers were falling around his ankles. "It's okay, Riza," he said before raining kisses upon her again.

She found herself trying to spit his tongue out. "No, I really . . . really don't think that . . . that this is a good idea."

"Shhh," he insisted, tugging at her dress with one hand, and using the other to push down the knee she had raised unconsciously. "It'll be alright."

It was hard trying to make him stop and keep herself clothed at the same time – she couldn't very well push him away and pull her dress back up simultaneously, and instead she found that when she tried to do one, he became more adept at the other. When she frantically held onto the bodice of her dress, he suddenly seemed right on top of her, and when she pushed him away, he'd fend off her hands.

"Emlyn, _stop it _. . . Please . . . Stop it!"

Then he did stop, for a moment. He grabbed roughly at her hands with a strength she hadn't noticed in him before, and stared her right in the eyes. "Shut. Up."

Something inside of her withered at that point, and as Emlyn's hand slid up her leg, she couldn't help but feel as though she'd betrayed Roy.


	21. In Which Guilt Is Rejected

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy

**Notes: **First things first - the bit in italics at the start is the summary of what happened at the end of the last chapter for those who didn't read it. It has a few pieces of the chapter taken out, but I left enough in there to get the message of what really happened through. At least, I hope I did. Hey, guess what! There's only one chapter after this, and then an epilogue . . . so it's really almost finished. Wow. It feels like it's been ages, but . . . not nearly long enough. You know? Thanks to all of my readers, and hugs and kisses to all of my reviewers :)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty: In Which Guilt Is Rejected**

_She couldn't remember the last time that Roy had kissed her like this. It all seemed like a distant memory. Maybe she and Roy had never kissed like this._

_With a sudden jolt she realised what she was doing._

"_Emlyn, stop it . . . Please . . . Stop it!"_

_Then he did stop, for a moment. He grabbed roughly at her hands with a strength she hadn't noticed in him before, and stared her right in the eyes. "Shut. Up."_

_Something inside of her withered at that point and she couldn't help but feel as though she'd betrayed Roy._

* * *

Roy was feeling apprehensive all evening. He and Addy had had a silent dinner together, in which the only moving of hands was to operate knife and forks. Addy may have been upset, but Roy didn't notice because he was too busy trying to think through his next conversation with Riza.

Although he had absolutely no clue as to what time she would come home, he could try to prepare himself. She only said that she was going out for dinner, so it if took . . . a quarter of an hour to get to the place, and an hour to eat, then she'd be back at about nine.

_But_, he reminded himself,_ Riza likes to hang around and talk_. That could very well add another hour until she arrived home. In that case, he decided to call her. Even if he could just say he was sorry, it might be a better idea for him to call her while she was having fun with friends than to speak with her when she arrived home and wasn't as happy anymore.

After dinner he called her mobile, but she didn't answer. Instead he was redirected to her voicemail. His initial reaction was to hang up – he didn't like leaving messages – but then he realised that this could be his only chance at apologising without interruptions. She wouldn't be able to leave just after he said the horrible sounding part of his apology before he managed to choke the rest out, and she couldn't interrupt him in the middle either. She'd have to listen to the whole thing, wouldn't she?

"Riza, about what I said earlier – I didn't mean it the way it sounded," he told the machine desperately. "I didn't think before I spoke, and didn't realise that it would make you angry. I say things before thinking, and I really hope that you won't yell at me . . . I just wanted to apologise for what I've said, and . . . I . . . I love you, Riza. I'll see you when you come home. I hope you're having fun with your friend at dinner. Bye."

He hung up and looked at the phone wistfully. Hopefully that didn't sound too bad. And he'd followed Addy's suggestion – that might do a little good, since nothing else had seemed to work.

That night Roy reluctantly got into bed at ten o'clock, still waiting for Riza to come home. He lay awake, tossing and turning on the empty bed, and whenever he heard a car coming down the street his ears would prick up, only to leave him even more worried about what he was supposed to say when they just drove right past. Twice a car stopped, and he got up to see if it was her, but no – it was just the neighbours.

Finally, when the clock read '**10:21**' in neon green, a car pulled up outside. When Roy got out of bed to look through the window there was a taxi in front of the house. A somewhat familiar figure hopped out, and after loitering around the driver's window – he assumed the person was paying the driver – they then made their way to the front door.

Roy bit his lip. That was Riza, then. He took his final moments to contemplate what he should do – would it be better if he stayed and waited for her to come to him before he spoke to her, or should he go meet her where she was?

Unsure, he waited anxiously for a while, listening for footsteps. Finally, he could hear her coming upstairs, but then instead of coming into their room, she continued along the hall. Maybe she was going to say goodnight to Addy. He padded away from the window and back to bed, crawling in, but staying seated rather than lying down.

He couldn't keep his eyes closed. Alternating between watching the door, waiting for it to open, and looking at the time glowing on the clock, he finally grew impatient when the numbers clicked over to '**10:28**'. He pulled back the bedcovers and wandered out into the dark hall.

"Riza?"

When he opened Addy's door the room was still black, and he didn't see her at first. Then slowly, he noticed her sitting on the floor by Addy's bed.

"Riza?" he whispered, tiptoeing in carefully so as not to wake up Addy. He saw her head turn towards him sharply and almost groaned – she wasn't still mad, was she? "I'm sorry. I . . . I didn't think before I spoke."

She stood up, rubbing up and down her arms quickly as though to get rid of the chill of the night. "No, it's okay."

Had he heard her correctly? Roy didn't know whether to clean out his ears or to get her to say it again. "It is?"

Stepping past him, she walked out of the room – her footsteps weren't making the usual clicking high-heel sound, and he assumed that she must have taken her shoes off. She did seem a little bit shorter. Roy followed after her, slowly closing Addy's door behind them. Riza put out a hand to stop him.

"I'm going to sleep in there with her tonight," she mumbled. Somehow her voice didn't have the power it usually had in it. Granted, the power was usually because she was directly opposed to everything he was saying – at least it seemed that way – but it just seemed gone.

Pulling it shut anyway, so that their conversation didn't disturb Addy, he was confused, and a little hurt. "But . . . I won't come and bother you if you want to sleep on the lounge. You don't have to hide behind Addy, or anything."

"No," she said quickly. "I– I don't want to sleep on the lounge. I don't mind sleeping in Addy's room." The frown on his face only deepened as she edged back towards the door.

"You can sleep in our bed, you know," he pointed out.

Shaking her head, her hand drifted towards the doorknob, and she began to fiddle with it, letting her fingers run over it as though she was itching to get away. "No, I wouldn't want to take it from you," she said, and once again the difference in her tone struck him. Had she been unsettled by his message? He shouldn't have taken Addy's advice after all!

A little hurt and not understanding why she was acting this way – but then again, he never really understood – he shrugged. "Unless you especially don't want to sleep in the same bed as me, I don't see there being any problem with it."

Even in the dim light he could see her expression change. Her eyes widened a little making her look surprised. "You don't have any problems with that? Even now?"

"No," he said, shrugging again.

Something must have happened to shake her up this much – it definitely wasn't his doing. Maybe she'd spoken to her friend about the argument over dinner, and her friend had pointed out that she was being too harsh on him. He didn't know how it had gotten to the point that she seemed surprised he'd still sleep in the same bed as her after their argument, and although it was nice that she wasn't shouting at him, he was disconcerted. They could talk about it further in the morning.

She looked so relieved and confused that he continued on. "It's just a stupid argument, anyway. We've decided to stay together – if you could possibly forgive me, that is."

Her face fell and his heart sunk. What had he said wrong? Oh no . . . That wasn't . . . No, she wasn't crying, but her face had scrunched up as though she was trying very hard not to. Was he supposed to do something?

Finally it seemed that she had gained enough control over herself to be able to speak, because her next sentence completely mystified him.

"If you can forgive me, too."

A total mind blank manifested at that point, and his stomach gave a lurch. This was not just a plea to forgive her for always yelling at him, and for always being angry – there was something bigger – something deeper – behind this.

She took a shuddering breath and continued. "Tonight, I . . . I slept with Emlyn."

It was like being turned to stone. His lips twitched to let out a cry of "What? . . . Who?" but she rambled on, playing miserably with the shoes she held in her hand as she looked at her bare feet.

"I was just . . . so angry at you, for what you said, and my phone battery died, so I had to go and borrow his phone to call a taxi, but . . . I was _angry_ at you, Roy," she told him, her tone holding a little more clarity as she gave a pained look in his direction before looking back at her feet again. "And then . . . and then Emlyn said I shouldn't go home when I was that angry, so I was going to wait until I calmed down, but he kissed me."

This time she didn't look away. He could make out her eyes in the dark, and at that moment they latched onto his, a hint of desperation gleaming in them. "Do you know how long it's been since someone kissed me? Properly?"

Well, no, he didn't really, although he assumed it was in the vicinity of an hour ago. Right now he was too shocked to even think about it, although logic told him that the last time before that was most likely that one time they'd tried to get the spark back in their marriage after the affair, but it hadn't worked out. Huh. The affair. _His_ affair – seeing as there wasn't just one anymore.

She had half turned away now, and seemed more to be talking down the hallway than to him. He didn't want to listen, but couldn't move, and so even as he tried to block out what she was saying, it still came to him.

"It wasn't right - I knew it wasn't right. So I told him to stop, but he wouldn't." Suddenly, Roy's ears pricked up.

He reached out and grabbed at her forearm, ignoring the way she flinched beneath his hand. "Wait, what?"

As a soccer player he'd sat through many a lecture, paying more attention in some than in others. They'd been spoken to about the sorts of things the media might do with the events of their life, and warned that they were in the public's eye. As such they had more to lose than the average man, should they ever be found doing the wrong thing. Every now and then, they'd been given scenarios in which something wasn't right, especially things that the media would catch onto and make a big deal out of.

And somehow, this sounded just like one of the date-rape scenarios they'd been given.

Now looking directly at him, Riza trembled in his hands. She was shrinking away from him slightly, almost as though afraid of what his reaction might be. "I slept with him, Roy. I . . . I cheated on you . . ."

"_No_," he said, gripping her arms tighter. "You said that you told him to stop." This wasn't just a matter of his own pride anymore – she hadn't taken off with some other person like . . . like he did to her.

She sniffed and nodded quickly, eyes wide. Her muscles were tense beneath his hands.

"Then it's rape," he told her simply.

Shocked, she was soon shaking her head. "No, he wouldn't do that–"

"Riza," Roy said, loosening his grip on her shoulder. "He raped you."

He didn't know what to do. He felt as though he should be holding her, comforting her, but having just been through the ordeal that it seemed she had, he wasn't sure if he should move closer – she might take it the wrong way.

Brown eyes fixed on his, her perpetual look of horror and confusion hadn't changed. "What am I supposed to do?"

There was no doubt in his mind as to the oncoming course of action. "Call the cops, tell them where he lives and have them arrest him," he said with entire confidence in the idea.

The look on her face didn't change. "But . . ."

He gritted his teeth. "Either you tell the police about it, or let me know where he lives and I'll beat the bastard half to death."

"Roy, I . . ." She cut off as his gaze softened painfully.

S_omething_ inside of him was tearing – a cold ache had manifested itself in his chest – and knew that whatever it was, it wouldn't be the same again. Considering their recent history, he didn't know yet whether that could be a good thing or a bad thing, but all he felt now was the imminent knowledge that his wife had been hurt, and he hadn't been there to protect her. In fact, if it hadn't been for his own behaviour, it was likely she wouldn't have been in that position in the first place.

He reached up, putting one hand lightly on the back of her neck, and weakly rested his forehead against hers, too worried to notice the way she froze instead of moving away. "Riza . . . Please, just tell the police."


	22. In Which Neither Party Brings About An A

**Disclaimer:I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy**

**Notes: **Well, here it is, people. The last chapter. This is the conclusive chapter. I still have an epilogue, but I've tried to write it so that rather than being necessary to the story (and thus making it not an epilogue, but just another chapter) it is an extra section. This is the end. The epilogue is like a preview of life afterwards. I'll have my thanks to reviewers at the end of my epilogue, but for now it's hugs and kisses to you all! And thank you, readers!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One: In Which Neither Party Brings About An Argument**

Riza was out in the backyard when the phone rang – she'd purposefully left the house because she didn't want to have to answer any questions. The phone had rung five times in the last day while Roy was at his soccer practice, and they were all the same sort of people wanting to know more. She'd given each of them the same answer: "I don't want to talk about it. Please stop calling." Whoever was calling now was most likely from one of the rebuffed networks or papers, trying to get an answer anyway.

Addy hadn't gone to school today. Neither Roy nor Riza underestimated the ferocity of a journalist trying to get a story, and while the explanation they had given the girl was no more than "Something bad happened to Mummy," they didn't want the press trying to get to her anyway.

Neither of the Mustang women heard the phone. They were too busy splashing around in the pool, trying to ignore the cool temperature of the water. Addy had had basic swimming classes already, and while Riza tried to help her further they had gotten sidetracked, and it had all turned into a game. A game in which the past three days weren't an issue.

* * *

Roy picked up the ringing phone. If it was another journalist, he would just have to tell them to go away and that none of them were interested in elaborating just for the sake of a story – and hope that they'd actually pay him some attention, this time.

"Hello?"

"Roy?"

He sighed with relief. "Hi, Maes."

The voice on the other line seemed disconcerted and uncomfortable. "Look, there's no easy way for me to approach this, so I'm just going to tell you straight out. The Channel Eight news program just announced that the owner of some construction company, or something, was just arrested for . . . for _raping_ Riza."

Roy grunted stiffly and there was a pause.

"You mean . . . it's true?" Maes asked, his voice quivering with disgust.

There wasn't really any way he could get past this cleanly. He may as well let Maes know it all rather than letting him get his faulty information from the media.

"He's the owner of the company Riza was working for." A repulsed groan came from the other end of the phone, and even though Maes couldn't see it, Roy nodded grimly. "Riza went out for dinner with him the other night, and when she came back I went to talk with her, to apologise for an argument we'd had, but for some reason she was all apologetic, and asked _me_ to forgive _her_."

There was a puzzled silence, and Roy took a breath and went on.

"I think he must have tried to seduce her or something, because she said that she told him to stop but he didn't, and she was still trying to tell me that she'd cheated on me."

"What?!"

"I had to convince her that if she said no, that meant that he raped her. She didn't seem to realise that it wasn't her fault."

"How could she think that it was her fault?" Maes asked, outraged.

"From what she said, it sounded as though she was pretty angry with me at the time, and it took her a while to realise what was happening. I think she feels guilty for having let it get that far before saying anything."

"But she didn't do anything wrong!"

Roy felt inclined to agree with Maes. What Riza had told him, about . . . kissing _Emlyn_, had made him feel almost guilty. He couldn't say that it was his fault for not kissing her himself, but maybe if he'd been less inclined to pick her up on everything wrong that she did, and if he'd been more lenient, then it was possible that they wouldn't have been arguing in the first place, and then the man wouldn't have asked her to dinner, and this wouldn't have happened.

Blaming himself was stupid – he knew that – but he couldn't help but feel that he could have stopped it somehow. He didn't even know if she'd gotten his message on her phone, because she said that her battery had died. Did she know he'd said he loved her? He'd been too caught up to ask her, and too worried to say it again.

Eventually the conversation moved away from the Big Issue, and Maes asked the very question that Roy had been thinking about recently.

"So how has this affected your marriage, then?"

He paused, taking the time to think about it before answering. "I'm not going to say that it's fixed all of the problems we've had, or that it's driving us further apart, but . . . Mmm." No, maybe he could approach from a different angle. "Addy asked me the other day – before all of this happened – if I still loved Riza. It got me thinking, you know? We argue enough that everyone who knows about it thinks a divorce would be better, but although I don't know what she's thinking, I know that the only reason I'm doing what I am is because I just want her to be okay. It might be a little misguided, but if that isn't love, then what is?"

Maes gave a mirthless laugh. "Yes, it is a bit misguided. But maybe now that you know, you'll be able to change how you're talking to her." He hesitated a moment before going on. "Do you know how she is? How has this affected her?"

"Oh, she's out playing with Addy right now. She's not looking forward to the court trial – they say it might not be for two to six months if things keep moving at the pace that they have been – but once that's through, it'll be over and she won't have to worry about it. She says she's going to quit her job. Even though he'll be in jail after this, she doesn't want to be around there anymore."

"_Yeah_, I can understand that!"

"But . . . she _hugged_ me this morning," Roy said, sounding almost confused. It had been unexpected, and . . . nice. "She told me that she just wanted to thank me for helping her, and _hugged _me."

The two of them sat in an equally confused silence until Maes broke it. "This is . . . It doesn't usually happen?"

"No," Roy said, letting the shock into his voice. "Sometimes you just don't notice that the signs of affection are gone until something does happen, and you can't remember the last time it was there."

* * *

For a few select months of that year she made a point of not watching the television. Not before the case and not when it began, around three months later, and then even more of an effort not to see anything about it when it was finally resolved a few months more after that. She didn't want to hear any more about this than she already had, and that was too much as it was.

The whole thing had been like going through hell. Even without watching the news she still heard stories about people believing it all to be a publicity stunt, or even an attempt to cover up sleeping with another man. Why on earth would she try to pull a stunt like this? She'd always tried to stay out of the media as much as possible before, and it wasn't as though it would help Roy's career at all. Why would she go to the police with it and stir up a fuss if she had just been sleeping with him? She and Roy were perfectly able to sort out their own problems together. Going in and out of court each day had been terrible, trying to bypass the occasional camera and slip in as unnoticed as she could be.

It was hard not to dwell on it, sometimes. The amount it was on her mind scared her, but she had noticed that the memories were slowly fading. Not fast enough for her liking, though.

Something in the back of her head told her that Emlyn wasn't like that – that he wouldn't do that to her. He was friendly, and he was a good listener. He may have seemed a bit off at the start, but that was just because she had been stuck thinking of him as some pervert.

Despite the way that her mind automatically moved to defend him, she couldn't help but recall the panic she had felt, and she knew that if he really was the man she had come to know him as, he wouldn't have done anything to make her feel like that in the first place. Not on purpose.

That night, she had had the most horrible feeling as he stood up, and was frozen in place when he pulled up his pants in a matter of fact way before wandering out of the room. She had been more shocked and pained than anything else. In a blaze of emotion, she had scrambled up and composed herself as well as she could, fixing up her clothing before rushing over to the phone and calling the taxi company.

Not wanting to stay in the penthouse for any longer, she had decided to wait in the lobby of the building so that she wouldn't have to stand on the street this late at night. As she'd been looking around for her bag, Emlyn must have come back into the room, because when she straightened up she found him standing and observing her casually, a drink in one hand. She had looked away, breathing hard and fast, and walking as well as she could through the hallway out to the door on shaky legs. He followed her.

As the door opened, he stepped up and put the hand not holding his drink onto her hip before whispering into her ear. "I'm a greedy man, Riza – I always want what I can't have. Until I get it, that is."

She was unsure of whether it had been what he said or the fingers still rubbing at her hip that sent shivers up her spine. With that, he had given her a push a little too forceful to consider friendly, so that she tottered out the door, and he closed it behind her.

The memory still hung about in her mind, unwanted and disquieting. If she could get rid of it, she would – but at least it gave her the certainty that he knew what he was doing, as painful as the idea was. He knew that he was ruining her. He knew what he was doing was repulsive. He – her friend – had been entirely conscious of his actions. And for that he was rightly tried and found guilty.

"Riza?"

She looked up from the résumé she had been trying to make amendments to.

Roy was biting at his lip, unsure of how to word his sentence. "Are you sure that you want to get another job?"

She could have blown up at him for trying to stop her from doing something on her own again. She could have shouted at him for trying to restrict her actions. She could have become angry at him for trying to control what she did.

She sighed and crumpled up the paper. "No, you're right," she said. "I don't think I do."

_Fin._

* * *

_For some reason I feel it necessary to explain that ending to you, just in case you didn't pick up on it. This is the reason why I ended it like that: they could have argued. They could have both kicked up a huge fuss about not liking the other's behaviour. Instead, Roy is looking out for Riza (he doesn't want her to have to go through anything like that again - after all, we can see what happened last time) and he **asks** her if she really wants to make that decision instead of telling her not to do it, like he would have earlier. Riza could very well blow up at Roy for trying to control her life again, but instead she stops to see the sense in what he says, rather than reacting off the heat of the moment. I'm not saying he's always right and she's always wrong, just that they have both learnt now to respect the other person's decisions._

_Thank you for enjoying my story - at least, I hope you did - and maybe I'll see you at the epilogue._

_-Dai_


	23. Epilogue

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own Addy

**Notes: **First: The epilogue is set _about a year after the court case_. Second: this is really the end. I'm really sad to be leaving it here, but this epilogue was like a flash of inspiration to me, and it had to be in there. And if the story went any longer or any differently, it couldn't have worked. So thank you everyone for supporting me through this story, and I'm glad that I was able to get such feedback from you all. I don't have any works ready to be posted soon, but I have a few in the making, some one-shots, some series. Once I finish the one-shots they'll be posted, but since I'm in such a blobby mood recently, it might not be for a while (sorry). I love you all, and thank you for your reviews - just as you've been able to get to know a bit about me through these rambling A/Ns, I feel as though I've been able to get to know you through your reviews. Thank you again. Here's the epilogue (oh, it's an almost exact mirror for the prologue and the start of the first chapter, so even though you won't find this as interesting as I do, if you look at them both at the same time you can see how the characters have changed, and the same people talk at the same time in prologue and epilogue. There might be one or two times I change it, towards the end, but other than that it's all the same.).

* * *

**Epilogue**

His hand rose high into the air, acknowledging the people who had come to see him, and the crowd roared along with their hero. He had been in numerous matches, all of which only resulted in making them love him more. They had come to adore him, win or lose, because he played well, and he played fairly. They saw him through the good and the bad, because they knew that even if he slipped his team would be there to pull him back up and to refocus him in the right direction. Now, he was by no means a bad player, but among the numerous successes, there were days in which he just didn't reach the bar.

Such was the sport of soccer.

His hand lowered and the grin faded into an easy concentration. He jogged into his position next to the ref for the toss up, across from the other team's captain. The man scowled in his direction, but his mind was elsewhere at that time, and the glare went unnoticed.

* * *

She hadn't been able to make it to the start of game – not because she'd been avoiding it, but rather because things just managed to get in the way. Nonetheless, she arrived at the end of half-time and squeezed her way through to her seat.

"It's two to one, Amestris' way," the ash-blond woman beside her announced, taking her eyes off the game long enough to smile a greeting. Her husband was in possession of the ball at that moment, making a break for the goal circle. At that moment he booted it over to the Right Inner, who – completely devoid of any following defenders – proceeded towards the looming goalposts.

She scanned the field for a moment, quickly locating a black mess of hair. "Who scored the goals?" she asked, eyes lingering on the play.

The ash-blonde smiled somewhat smugly. "Havoc and Maes. But don't worry, I'm sure that Roy will get there soon."

"I'm sure he will."

There was a moment of comfortable silence in which both women watched the field carefully. After a moment she used a finger to flick the daffodil-yellow fringe out of her eyes, and slowly crossed her legs, leaning forward as slightly as she was able.

Two quick passes took place before the Amestrian Left Inner finally ran the ball inside the goal circle. "Look! They've almost scored a goal!"

"I'm watching – I can see," she mumbled in reply, too involved in watching the game to construct a proper response as the young player deftly dodged a few of the opposing members. As he wound up for a kick at the goals, one of the opposing Backs ran in and stole the ball. The crowd let out an "aww" of disappointment, and she slumped back, sending a glance in the way of the timer. A silence fell, and the roar erupted once again. Her eyes darted back to the game in time to see the ball fly into the net, and to hear the buzzer sound to signal a goal.

"Did you see it!? Roy took it back like it was nothing and just booted it right past the Keeper!"

She grinned. "Yes, I saw it, Gracia." Still smiling, she recrossed her legs and pulled her jacket around her as tight as it would go. Only one thing would never change about these games – the fact that they always insisted on playing them on cold and breezy days.

* * *

Roy Mustang may have been a soccer player, but he knew where best to lay his priorities. His job may have revolved around being able to boot that ball into some net, but his heart and his life were off the field.

Stepping out of the change-rooms after the game, he gave a grin and a wave to the crowd, whose cheers doubled as he stepped out into the open. He didn't leave them hanging, but neither did he stick around for long. After a few signatures and handshakes, he was off, lugging his kit bag out with him.

There she was, standing as off to the side as she could, waiting with Gracia. She was clutching her jacket around her, and when she saw him walking over, grin plastered over his face, she let the corners of her mouth curl up into a smile. He put an arm around her and pressed a kiss to her temple by way of greeting.

"You ready to go?" she asked, one hand fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Don't you have something to tell me, first?"

"I sure do," she told him, and her smiled blossomed as she tilted her head up so that he could kiss her properly. When after a moment their lips parted, she looked him directly in the eyes. "It's going to be another girl."

His grin grew wider. "Wonderful."_

* * *

_

_Thank you again, everyone. I know that this is like me, wanting to continue my stories forever, but I actually had a sequel planned. I got a prologue and the start of a chapter written, and that was it. The rest wouldn't come, because I have ideas for a few key points, but not really for any prolonged storyline, and I was hesitant because sequels usually aren't as good as the original. So, thanks to the wonderful idea of **Bizzy**, I'm most likely going to make a group of one-shots just showing how their lives progressed after this (because I **really** wanted to be able to use my prologue . . . for some reason I really like it), so I suppose it's not completely the end. I don't know when I'll start releasing those, but I'll wait until I've written a few more, first. Thank you, everyone._

_Thank you, reviewers: OTP, Crystal Mage, Griselda, Riza Hawkeye 9, SakuraTearDrop, Squirrel, MoonStarDuchess, Moomoogirl1, Legendary Chimera, Dreams - United, Bizzy, winglessfairy25, mustang.family, causmicfire, forkqueen, Griselda Banks, Breion, mappsgo, fullofmetal, Apatia, Automailjunkie44, AnarchyWarrior, i'llwait, Azilie, blknblupanther1, Oblivioneclipse, LiLanimegirl101, vilja, redwalgrl-RG, unheardgoodconscience, and of course Sunri and all the other wonderful people at the Royai Forum (which there is a link to in my profile)._


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